LIBRARY 

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THE    ENCHANTED    ISLAND 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/enchantedislandoOOnoyeiala 


THE   ENCHANTED 
ISLAND 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

ALFRED    NOYES 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  19 10 
By  Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company 


Copyright,  1909 
By  Alfred  Noyes 


All  rights  reserved 


March,  iqio 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mist  in  the  Valley i 

A  Song  of  the  Plough 6 

The  Banner    , 9 

Rank  and  File     •■ 10 

The  Skylark  Caged 18 

The  Lovers'  Flight 21 

The  Rock  Pool 26 

The  Island  Hawk 31 

The  Admiral's  Ghost 39 

Edinburgh 45 

Red  of  the  Dawn  ........  47 

Lavender     .     :.     :.     .,     .     .•     ....  50 

The  Dream-Child's  Invitation     ...  52 

The  Tramp  Transfigured 56 

On  the  Downs 79 

A  May-Day  Carol    m    ..     *     .     .     .     •  8a 

The  Call  of  the  Spring 84 

A  Devonshire  Ditty 87 

Bacchus  and  the  Pirates 89 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Newspaper  Boy 103 

The  Two  Worlds 106 

Gorse :.-.     .     .;    ,..    ..  109 

For  the  Eightieth  Birthday  of  George 

Meredith 112 

In  Memory  of  Swinburne 113 

On  the  Death  of  Francis  Thompson  .      .  116 

In  Memory  of  Meredith  .  ...  120 

A  Friend  of  Carlyle 122 

The  Testimony  of  Art 132 

The  Scholars 133 

Resurrection 134 

A  Japanese  Love-Song 137 

The  Two  Painters 139 

The  Enchanted  Island 152 

Unity 159 

The  Hill-Flower 161 

Act/eon  .     .     . 164 

Lucifer's  Feast 173 

Veterans 185 

The  Quest  Renewed  . 187 

The  Lights  of  Home  - 189 

Mount  Ida 190 

Glimpses 201 

The  Electric  Tram 204 


THE    ENCHANTED    ISLAND 


MIST  IN  THE  VALLEY 


TYPIST  in  the  valley,  weeping  mist 
■*■"■*•     Beset  my  homeward  way. 
No  gleam  of  rose  or  amethyst 

Hallowed  the  parting  day; 
A  shroud,  a  shroud  of  awful  gray 

Wrapped  every  woodland  brow, 
And  drooped  in  crumbling  disarray 

Around  each  wintry  bough. 

n 
And  closer  round  me  now  it  clung 

Until  I  scarce  could  see 
The  stealthy  pathway  over-hung 

By  silent  tree  and  tree 
Which  floated  in  that  mystery 

As  —  poised  in  waveless  deeps  — 
Branching  in  worlds  below  the  sea, 

The  gray  sea-forest  sleeps. 

ni 
Mist  in  the  valley,  mist  no  less 

Within  my  groping  mind ! 
The  stile  swam  out :  a  wilderness 
Rolled  round  it,  gray  and  blind. 
[  i  ] 


MIST  IN  THE  VALLEY 

A  yard  in  front,  a  yard  behind, 
So  strait  my  world  was  grown, 

I  stooped  to  win  once  more  some  kind 
Glimmer  of  twig  or  stone. 

ry 

;I  crossed  and  lost  the  friendly  stile 

And  listened.     Never  a  sound 
Came  to  me.     Mile  on  mile  on  mile 

It  seemed  the  world  around 
Beneath  some  infinite  sea  lay  drowned 

With  all  that  e'er  drew  breath ; 
Whilst  I,  alone,  had  strangely  found 

A  moment's  life  in  death. 

v 

A  universe  of  lifeless  gray 

Oppressed  me  overhead. 
Below,  a  yard  of  clinging  clay 

With  rotting  foliage  red 
Glimmered.     The  stillness  of  the  dead, 

Hark!  —  was  it  broken  now 
By  the  slow  drip  of  tears  that  bled 

From  hidden  heart  or  bough. 


[2] 


MIST  IN  THE  VALLEY 

VI 

Mist  in  the  valley,  mist  no  less 

That  muffled  every  cry 
Across  the  soul's  gray  wilderness 

Where  faith  lay  down  to  die; 
Buried  beyond  all  hope  was  I, 

Hope  had  no  meaning  there : 
A  yard  above  my  head  the  sky 

Could  only  mock  at  prayer. 

VII 

Yet,  though  the  corse  of  that  dead  God 

Were  bowed  across  the  way, 
Though,  closer,  closer,  as  I  trod 

My  path  of  clinging  clay, 
All  round  me  pressed  the  hideous  gray 

Corruption,  till  it  seemed 
To  quench  the  last  faint  struggling  ray 

That  in  my  spirit  gleamed, 

VIII 

E'en  as  I  groped  along,  the  gloom 

Suddenly  shook  at  my  feet! 
O,  strangely  as  from  a  rending  tomb 

In  resurrection,  sweet 
[  3  ] 


MIST  IN  THE  VALLEY 

Swift  wings  tumultuously  beat 
Away!     I  paused  to  hark  — 

O  birds  of  thought,  too  fair,  too  fleet 
To  follow  across  the  dark! 

IX 

Yet,  like  a  madman's  dream,  there  came 

One  fair  swift  flash  to  me 
Of  distances,  of  streets  a-flame 

With  joy  and  agony, 
And  further  yet,  a  moon-lit  sea 

Foaming  across  its  bars, 
And  further  yet,  the  infinity 

Of  wheeling  suns  and  stars, 


And  further  yet    ...     O  mist  of  suns, 

I  grope  amidst  your  light, 
Oh,  further  yet,  what  vast  response 

From  what  transcendent  height? 
Wild  wings  that  burst  thro'  death's  dim  night 

I  can  but  pause  and  hark ; 
For  O,  ye  are  too  swift,  too  white, 

To  follow  across  the  dark! 

[4] 


MIST  IN  THE  VALLEY 

XI 

Mist  in  the  valley,  yet  I  saw, 

And  in  my  soul  I  knew 
The  gleaming  City  whence  I  draw 

The  strength  that  then  I  drew, 
My  misty  pathway  to  pursue 

With  steady  pulse  and  breath 
Through  these  dim  forest-ways  of  dew 

And  darkness,  life  and  death. 


m 


A  SONG  OF,  THE  PLOUGH 

i 

(Morning.) 

TDLE,  comfortless,  bare, 
"■■    The  broad  bleak  acres  lie: 
The  ploughman  guides  the  sharp  plough-share 
Steadily  nigh. 

The  big  plough-horses  lift 

And  climb  from  the  marge  of  the  sea, 
And  the  clouds  of  their  breath  on  the  clear  wind 
drift 

Over  the  fallow  lea. 

Streaming  up  with  the  yoke, 

Brown  as  the  sweet-smelling  loam, 
Thro'  a  sun-swept  smother  of  sweat  and  smoke 

The  two  great  horses  come. 

Up  thro'  the  raw,  cold  morn 

They  trample  and  drag  and  swing; 

And  my  dreams  are  waving  with  ungrown  corn 
In  a  far-off  spring. 

[6] 


A  SONG  OF  THE  PLOUGH 

It  is  my  soul  lies  bare 

Between  the  hills  and  the  sea: 
Come,  ploughman  Life,  with  thy  sharp  plough- 
share, 

And  plough  the  field  for  me. 

H 

(Evening.) 

Over  the  darkening  plain 

As  the  stars  regain  the  sky, 
Steals  the  chime  of  an  unseen  rein 

Steadily  nigh. 

Lost  in  the  deepening  red 

The  sea  has  forgotten  the  shore: 
The  great  dark  steeds  with  their  muffled  tread 

Draw  near  once  more. 

To  the  furrow's  end  they  sweep 

Like  a  sombre  wave  of  the  sea, 
Lifting  its  crest  to  challenge  the  deep 

Hush  of  Eternity. 

Still  for  a  moment  they  stand, 

Massed  on  the  sun's  red  death, 
A  surge  of  bronze,  too  great,  too  grand, 

To  endure  for  more  than  a  breath. 

[7  J 


Ik  SONG  OF  THE  PLOUGH 

Only  the  billow  and  stream 

Of  muscle  and  flank  and  mane 
Like  darkling  mountain-cataracts  gleam 

Gripped  in  a  Titan's  rein. 

Once  more  from  the  furrow's  end 

They  wheel  to  the  fallow  lea, 
And  down  the  muffled  slope  descend 

To  the  sleeping  sea. 

And  the  fibrous  knots  of  clay, 

And  the  sun-dried  clots  of  earth 
Cleave,  and  the  sunset  cloaks  the  gray 

.Waste  and  the  stony  dearth ! 

O,  broad  and  dusky  and  sweet, 

The  sunset  covers  the  weald ; 
But  my  dreams  are  waving  with  golden  wheat 

In  a  still  strange  field. 

My  soul,  ffiy  soul  lies  bare, 

Between  the  hills  and  the  sea; 
Come,  ploughman  Death,  with  thy  sharp  plough- 
share, 

And  plough  the  field  for  me. 

[8] 


THE  BANNER! 

T  X  7  HO  in  the  gorgeous  van-guard  of  the  years 
•  "        With  winged  helmet  glistens,  let  him  hold 

Ere  he  pluck  down  this  banner,  crying  "  It  bears 
An  old  device  " ;  for*  though  it  seem  the  old 

It  is  the  new !     No  rent  shroud  of  the  past, 
But  its  transfigured  spirit  that  still  shines 
Triumphantly  before  the  foremost  lines, 

Even  from  the  first  prophesying  the  last. 

And  whoso  dreams  to  pluck  it  down  shall  stand 
Bewildered,  while  the  great  host  thunders  by; 

And  he  shall  show  the  rent  shroud  in  his  hand 
And  "  lo,  I  lead  the  van !  "  he  still  shall  cry  ; 

While  leagues  away,  the  spirit-banner  shines 
Rushing  in  triumph  before  the  foremost  lines. 


[9] 


RANK  AND  FILE 


TARUM-TAPS!    Drum-taps!    Who  is  it 
**-^     marching, 
Marching  past  in  the  night  ?     Ah,  hark, 
Draw  your  curtains  aside  and  see 
Endless  ranks  of  the  stars  o'er-arching 
Endless  ranks  of  an  army  marching, 
Marching  out  of  the  measureless  dark, 
Marching  away  to  Eternity. 


See  the  gleam  of  the  white  sad  faces 
Moving  steadily,  row  on  row, 

Marching  away  to  their  hopeless  wars: 
Drum-taps,  drum-taps,  where  are  they  marching? 
Terrible,  beautiful,  human  faces, 

Common  as  dirt,  but  softer  than  snow, 
Coarser  than  clay,  but  calm  as  the  stars. 


[   10] 


RANK  AND  FILE 

ni 

Is  it  the  last  rank  readily,  steadily 

Swinging  away  to  the  unknown  doom? 
Ere  you  can  think  it,  the  drum-taps  beat 
Louder,  and  here  they  come  marching,  marching, 
Great  new  level  locked  ranks  of  them  readily 
Steadily  swinging  out  of  the  gloom, 
Marching  endlessly  down  the  street. 

IV 

Unregarded  imperial  regiments 

White  from  the  roaring  intricate  places 
Deep  in  the  maw  of  the  world's  machine, 
Well  content,  they  are  marching,  marching, 
Unregarded  imperial  regiments, 

Ay,  and  there  are  those  terrible  faces 

Great  world-heroes  that  might  have  been. 

v 

Hints  and  facets  of  One  —  the  Eternal, 
Faces  of  grief,  compassion  and  pain, 
Faces  of  hunger,  faces  of  stone, 
Faces  of  love  and  of  labor,  marching, 
Changing  facets  of  One  —  the  Eternal, 
Streaming  up  thro'  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
All  together  and  each  alone. 

[  II  1 


RANK  AND  FILE 

VI 

You  that  doubt  of  the  world's  one  Passion, 
You  for  whose  science  the  stars  are  a-stray, 
Hark  —  to  their  orderly  thunder-tread ! 
These,  in  the  night,  with  the  stars  are  marching 
One  to  the  end  of  the  world's  one  Passion ! 
You  that  have  taken  their  Master  away, 
Where  have  you  laid  Him,  living  or  dead? 

VII 

You  whose  laws  have  hidden  the  One  Law, 
You  whose  searchings  obscure  the  goal, 
You  whose  systems  from  chaos  begun, 
Chance-born,  order-less,  hark,  they  are  marching, 
Hearts  and  tides  and  stars  to  the  One  Law, 
Measured  and  orderly,  rhythmical,  whole, 
Multitudinous,  welded  and  one. 

VIII 

Split  your  threads  of  the  seamless  purple, 
Round  you  marches  the  world-wide  host, 
Round  your  skies  is  the  marching  sky, 
Out  in  the  night  there's  an  army  marching, 
Clothed  with  the  night's  own  seamless  purple^ 
Making  death  for  the  King  their  boast, 
Marching  straight  to  Eternity. 
[    12   ] 


RANK  AND  FILE 

IX 

What  do  you  know  of  the  shot-riddled  banners 
Royally  surging  out  of  the  gloom, 
You  whose  denials  their  souls  despise? 
Out  in  the  night  they  are  marching,  marching ! 
Treasure  your  wisdom,  and  leave  them  their  banners ! 
Then  —  when  you  follow  them  down  to  the  tomb, 
Pray  for  one  glimpse  of  the  faith  in  their  eyes. 


Pray  for  one  gleam  of  the  white,  sad  faces, 
Moving  steadily,  row  on  row, 

Marching  away  to  their  hopeless  wars 
Doomed  to  be  trodden  like  dung,  but  marching, 
Terrible,  beautiful  human  faces, 

Common  as  dirt,  but  softer  than  snow, 
Coarser  than  clay,  but  calm  as  the  stars. 

XI 

What  of  the  end?    Will  your  knowledge  escape  it? 
What  of  the  end  of  their  dumb  dark  tears  ? 
You  who  mock  at  their  faith  and  sing, 
Look,  for  their  ragged  old  banners  are  marching 
Down  to  the  end  —  will  your  knowledge  escape  it  ? 
Down  to  the  end  of  a  few  brief  years ! 

What  should  they  care  for  the  wisdom  you 
bring? 

[  13  ] 


RANK  AND  FILE 


XII 


Count  as  they  pass,  their  hundreds,  thousands, 
Millions,  marching  away  to  a  doom 

Younger  than  London,  older  than  Tyre! 
Drum-taps,  drum-taps  where  are  they  marching, — 
Regiments,  nations,  empires,  marching 

Down  thro'  the  jaws  of  a  world-wide  tomb, 
Doomed  or  ever  they  sprang  from  the  mire! 

XIII 

Doomed  to  be  shovelled  like  dung  to  the  midden, 
Trodden  and  kneaded  as  clay  in  the  road, 
Father  and  little  one,  lover  and  friend, 
Out  in  the  night  they  are  marching,  marching, 
Doomed  to  be  shovelled  like  dung  to  the  midden, 
Bodies  that  bowed  beneath  Christ's  own  load, 
Love  that  —  marched  to  the  self-same  end. 

XIV 

What  of  the  end  ?  —  O,  not  of  your  glory, 

Not  of  your  wealth  or  your  fame  that  will  live 
Half  as  long  as  this  pellet  of  dust !  — 
Out  in  the  night  there's  an  army  marching, 
Nameless,  noteless,  empty  of  glory, 
Ready  to  suffer  and  die  and  forgive, 
Marching  onward  in  simple  trust, 

[   Hi 


RANK  AND  FILE 


xv 


Wearing  their  poor  little  toy  love-tokens 
Under  the  march  of  the  terrible  skies! 
Is  it  a  jest  for  a  God  to  play?  — 
Whose  is  the  jest  of  these  millions  marching, 
Wearing  their  poor  little  toy  love-tokens, 
Waving  their  voicelessly  grand  good-byes, 
Secretly  trying,  sometimes,  to  pray. 

XVI 

Dare  you  dream  their  trust  in  Eternity 
Broken,  O  you  to  whom  prayers  are  vain, 
You  who  dream  that  their  God  is  dead? 
Take  your  answer  —  these  millions  marching 
Out  of  Eternity,  into  Eternity, 

These  that  smiled  "  We  shall  meet  again," 
Even  as  the  life  from  their  loved  one  fled. 

XVII 

Not  for  the  sake  of  the  proud  and  the  mighty, 
Not  for  their  doubts  will  He  break  that  trust, 
He,  the  Eternal,  beyond  their  ken : 
Out  in  the  night  there's  an  army  marching, 
Not  of  the  proud,  the  famous,  the  mighty! 
Loud  to  God  from  the  silent  dust 
Rings  the  cry  of  the  unknown  men. 

[  15  ] 


RANK  AND  FILE 


XVIII 


This  is  the  answer,  not  of  the  sages, 

Not  of  the  loves  that  are  ready  to  part, 
Ready  to  find  their  oblivion  sweet ! 
Out  in  the  night  there's  an  army  marching, 
Men  that  have  toiled  thro'  the  endless  ages, 
Men  of  the  pit  and  the  desk  and  the  mart, 
Men  that  remember,  the  men  in  the  street, 

XIX 

These  that  into  the  gloom  of  Eternity 

Stream  thro'  the  dream  of  this  lamp-starred  town 
London,  an  army  of  clouds  to-night! 
These  that  of  old  came  marching,  marching, 
Out  of  the  terrible  gloom  of  Eternity, 
Bowing  their  heads  at  Rameses'  frown, 
Streaming  away  thro'  Babylon's  light; 

XX 

These  that  swept  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpet 
Out  thro'  the  night  like  gonfaloned  clouds, 
Exiled  hosts  when  the  world  was  Rome, 
Tossing  their  tattered  old  eagles,  marching 
Down  to  sleep  till  the  great  last  trumpet, 
London,  Nineveh,  rend  your  shrouds, 
Rally  the  legions  and  lead  them  home, 
[  16  ] 


RANK  AND  FILE 

XXI 

Lead  them  home  with  their  glorious  faces 
Moving  steadily,  row  on  row 

Marching  up  from  the  end  of  wars, 
Out  of  the  Valley  of  Shadows,  marching, 
Terrible,  beautiful,  human  faces, 

Common  as  dirt,  but  softer  than  snow, 
Coarser  than  clay,  but  calm  as  the  stars, 

XXII 

Marching  out  of  the  endless  ages, 
Marching  out  of  the  dawn  of  time, 
Endless  columns  of  unknown  men, 
Endless  ranks  of  the  stars  o'er-arching, 
Endless  ranks  of  an  army  marching 
Numberless  out  of  the  numberless  ages, 
Men  out  of  every  race  and  clime, 
Marching  steadily,  now  as  then. 


[  17] 


THE  SKYLARK  CAGED 


"D  EAT,  little  breast,  against  the  wires, 
•*~*     Strive,  little  wings  and  misted  eyes, 
Which  one  wild  gleam  of  memory  fires 

Beseeching  still  the  unfettered  skies, 
Whither  at  dewy  dawn  you  sprang 
Quivering  with  joy  from  this  dark  earth  and  sang. 

II 

And  still  you  sing  —  your  narrow  cage 

Shall  set  at  least  your  music  free ! 
Its  rapturous  wings  in  glorious  rage 

Mount  and  are  lost  in  liberty, 
While  those  who  caged  you  creep  on  earth 
Blind  prisoners  from  the  hour  that  gave  them  birth. 

m 

Sing!     The  great  City  surges  round. 

Blinded  with  light,  thou  canst  not  know. 
Dream!     'Tis  the  fir-woods'  windy  sound 

Rolling  a  psalm  of  praise  below. 
Sing,  o'er  the  bitter  dust  and  shame, 
And  touch  us  with  thine  own  transcendent  flame. 
[  18  ] 


THE  SKYLARK  CAGED 

IV 

Sing,  o'er  the  City  dust  and  slime; 

Sing,  o'er  the  squalor  and  the  gold, 
The  greed  that  darkens  earth  with  crime, 

The  spirits  that  are  bought  and  sold. 
O,  shower  the  healing  notes  like  rain, 
And  lift  us  to  the  height  of  grief  again. 


Sing!     The  same  music  swells  your  breast, 
And  the  wild  notes  are  still  as  sweet 

As  when  above  the  fragrant  nest 

And  the  wide  billowing  fields  of  wheat 

You  soared  and  sang  the  livelong  day, 

And  in  the  light  of  heaven  dissolved  away. 

VI 

The  light  of  heaven !     Is  it  not  here  ? 

One  rapture,  one  ecstatic  joy, 
One  passion,  one  sublime  despair, 

One  grief  which  nothing  can  destroy, 
You  —  though  your  dying  eyes  are  wet 
Remember,  'tis  our  blunted  hearts  forget. 


[19  ] 


THE  SKYLARK  CAGED 

VII 

Beat,  little  breast,  still  beat,  still  beat, 
Strive,  misted  eyes  and  tremulous  wings; 

Swell,  little  throat,  your  Sweet/   Sweet!   Sweet! 
Thro'  which  such  deathless  memory  rings: 

Better  to  break  your  heart  and  die, 

Than,  like  your  gaolers,  to  forget  your  sky* 


[20] 


THE  LOVERS'  FLIGHT 


/^■OME,  the  dusk  is  lit  with  flowers! 
^^     Quietly  take  this  guiding  hand : 
Little  breath  to  waste  is  ours 

On  the  road  to  lovers'  land. 
Time  is  in  his  dungeon-keep! 

Ah,  not  thither,  lest  he  hear, 
Starting  from  his  old  gray  sleep, 

Rosy  feet  upon  the  stair. 

II 

Ah,  not  thither,  lest  he  heed 

Ere  we  reach  the  rusty  door ! 
Nay,  the  stairways  only  lead 

Back  to  his  dark  world  once  more : 
There's  a  merrier  way  we  know 

Leading  to  a  lovelier  night  — 
See,  your  casement  all  a-glow 

Diamonding  the  wonder-light. 

m 

Fling  the  flowery  lattice  wide, 
Let  the  silken  ladder  down, 
[21    ] 


THE  LOVERS'  FLIGHT 

Swiftly  to  the  garden  glide 

Glimmering  in  your  long  white  gown, 
Rosy  from  your  pillow,  sweet, 

Come,  unsandalled  and  divine; 
Let  the  blossoms  stain  your  feet 

And  the  stars  behold  them  shine. 

IV 

Swift,  our  pawing  palfreys  wait, 

And  the  page  —  Dan  Cupid  —  frets, 
Holding  at  the  garden  gate 

Reins  that  chime  like  castanets, 
Bits  a-foam  with  fairy  flakes 

Flung  from  seas  whence  Venus  rose: 
Come,  for  Father  Time  awakes 

And  the  star  of  morning  glows. 


Swift  —  one  satin  foot  shall  sway 

Half  a  heart-beat  in  my  hand, 
Swing  to  stirrup  and  swift  away 

Down  the  road  to  lovers'  land : 
Ride  —  the  moon  is  dusky  gold, 

Ride  —  our  hearts  are  young  and  warm, 
Ride  —  the  hour  is  growing  old, 

And  the  next  may  break  the  charm. 

[22   ] 


THE  LOVERS'  FLIGHT 

VI 

Swift,  ere  we  that  thought  the  song 

Full  —  for  others  —  of  the  truth, 
We  that  smiled,  contented,  strong, 

Dowered  with  endless  wealth  of  youth, 
Find  that  like  a  summer  cloud 

Youth  indeed  has  crept  away, 
Find  the  robe  a  clinging  shroud 

And  the  hair  be-sprent  with  gray. 

VII 

Ride  —  we'll  leave  it  all  behind, 

All  the  turmoil  and  the  tears, 
All  the  mad,  vindictive  blind 

Yelping  of  the  heartless  years! 
Ride  —  the  ringing  world's  in  chase, 

Yet  we've  slipped  old  Father  Time, 
By  the  love-light  in  your  face 

And  the  jingle  of  this  rhyme. 

VIII 

Ride  —  for  still  the  hunt  is  loud ! 

Ride  —  our  steeds  can  hold  their  own ! 
Yours,  a  satin  sea-wave,  proud, 

Queen,  to  be  your  living  throne, 
[  23  ] 


THE  LOVERS'  FLIGHT 

Glittering  with  the  foam  and  fire 

Churned  from  seas  whence  Venus  rose, 

Tow'rds  the  gates  of  our  desire 
Gloriously  burning  flows. 

IX 

He,  with  streaming  flanks  a-smoke, 

Needs  no  spur  of  blood-stained  steel: 
Only  that  soft  thudding  stroke 

Once,  o'  the  little  satin  heel, 
Drives  his  mighty  heart,  your  slave, 

Bridled  with  these  bells  of  rhyme, 
Onward,  like  a  crested  wave 

Thundering  out  of  hail  of  Time. 


On,  till  from  a  rosy  spark 

Fairy-small  as  gleams  your  hand, 
Broadening  as  we  cleave  the  dark, 

Dawn  the  gates  of  lovers'  land, 
Nearing,  sweet,  till  breast  and  brow 

Lifted  through  the  purple  night 
Catch  the  deepening  glory  now 

And  your  eyes  the  wonder-light. 

[24] 


THE  LOVERS'  FLIGHT 

XI 

E'en  as  tow'rd  your  face  I  lean 

Swooping  nigh  the  gates  of  bliss 
I  the  king  and  you  the  queen 

Crown  each  other  with  a  kiss 
Riding,  soaring  like  a  song 

Burn  we  tow'rds  the  heaven  above, 
You  the  sweet  and  I  the  strong 

And  in  both  the  fire  of  love. 

XII 

Ride  —  though  now  the  distant  chase 

Knows  that  we  have  slipped  old  Time, 
Lift  the  love-light  of  your  face, 

Shake  the  bridle  of  this  rhyme, 
See,  the  flowers  of  night  and  day 

Streaming  past  on  either  hand, 
Ride  into  the  eternal  May, 

Ride  into  the  lovers'  land. 


[25] 


THE  ROCK  POOL 

i 

BRIGHT  as  a  fallen  fragment  of  the  sky, 
Mid  shell-encrusted  rocks  the  sea-pool  shone, 
Glassing  the  sunset-clouds  in  its  clear  heart, 
A  small  enchanted  world  enwalled  apart 

In  diamond  mystery, 
Content  with  its  own  dreams,  its  own  strict  zone 
Of  urchin  woods,  its  fairy  bights  and  bars, 
Its  daisy-disked  anemones  and  rose-feathered  stars. 

II 

Forsaken  for  a  while  by  that  deep  roar 

Which  works  in  storm  and  calm  the  eternal  will, 

Drags  down  the  cliffs,  bids  the  great  hills  go  by 

And  shepherds  their  multitudinous  pageantry, — 
Here,  on  this  ebb-tide  shore, 

A  jewelled  bath  of  beauty,  sparkling  still, 
The  little  sea-pool  smiled  away  the  sea, 
And  slept  on  its  own  plane  of  bright  tranquillity. 

[  26] 


THE  ROCK  POOL 

in 

A  self-sufficing  soul,  a  pool  in  trance, 

Un-stirred  by  all  the  spirit-winds  that  blow 

From  o'er  the  gulfs  of  change,  content,  ere  yet 

On  its  own  crags,  which  rough  peaked  limpets  fret 
The  last  rich  colors  glance, 

Content  to  mirror  the  sea-bird's  wings  of  snow, 
Or  feel  in  some  small  creek,  ere  sunset  fails, 
A  tiny  Nautilus  hoist  its  lovely  purple  sails ; 

IV 

And,  furrowing  into  pearl  that  rosy  bar, 

Sail  its  own  soul  from  fairy  fringe  to  fringe, 
Lured  by  the  twinkling  prey  'twas  born  to  reach 
In  its  own  pool,  by  many  an  elfin  beach 
Of  jewels,  adventuring  far 
Through  the  last  mirrored  cloud  and  sunset-tinge 
And  past  the  rainbow-dripping  cave  where  lies 
The  dark  green  pirate-crab  at  watch  with  beaded 
eyes, 

v 

Or  fringed  Medusa  floats  like  light  in  light, 

Medusa,  with  the  loveliest  of  all  fays 
Pent  in  its  irised  bubble  of  jellied  sheen, 
Trailing  long  ferns  of  moon-light,  shot  with  green 
And  crimson  rays  and  white, 
[27] 


THE  ROCK  POOL 

Waving  ethereal  tendrils,  ghostly  sprays, 
Daring  the  deep,  dissolving  in  the  sun, 
The  vanishing  point  of  life,  the  light  whence  life 
begun, 

VI 

Poised  between  life,  light,  time,  eternity, 

So  tinged  with  all,  that  in  its  delicate  brain 
Kindling  it  as  a  lamp  with  her  bright  wings 
Day-long,  night-long,  young  Ariel  sits  and  sings 

Echoing  the  lucid  sea, 
Listening  it  echo  her  own  unearthly  strain, 

Watching  through  lucid  walls  the  world's  rich  tide, 
One  light,  one  substance  with  her  own,  rise  and 
subside. 

vn 

And  over  soft  brown  woods,  limpid,  serene, 

Puffing  its  fans  the  Nautilus  went  its  way, 
And  from  a  hundred  salt  and  weedy  shelves 
Peered  little  horned  faces  of  sea-elves: 

The  prawn  darted,  half-seen, 
Thro'  watery  sunlight,  like  a  pale  green  ray, 

And  all  around,  from  soft  green  waving  bowers, 
Creatures  like  fruit  out-crept  from  fluted  shells 
like  flowers. 

[28] 


THE  ROCK  POOL 

VIII 

And,  over  all,  that  glowing  mirror  spread 
The  splendor  of  its  heaven-reflecting  gleams, 

A  level  wealth  of  tints,  calm  as  the  sky 

That  broods  above  our  own  mortality : 
The  temporal  seas  had  fled, 

And  ah,  what  hopes,  what  fears,  what  mystic  dreams 
Could  ruffle  it  now  from  any  deeper  deep? 
Content  in  its  own  bounds  it  slept  a  changeless  sleep. 

IX 

Suddenly,  from  that  heaven  beyond  belief, 
Suddenly,  from  that  world  beyond  its  ken, 

Dashing  great  billows  o'er  its  rosy  bars 

Shivering  its  dreams  into  a  thousand  stars, 
Flooding  each  sun-dried  reef 

With  waves  of  color,  (as  once,  for  mortal  men 
Bethesda's  angel)  with  blue  eyes,  wide  and  wild, 
Naked  into  the  pool  there  stepped  a  little  child. 


Her  red-gold  hair  against  the  far  green  sea 

Blew  thickly  out :  her  slender  golden  form 
Shone  dark  against  the  richly  waning  west 
As  with  one  hand  she  splashed  her  glistening  breast, 
[  29  ] 


THE  ROCK  POOL 

Then  waded  up  to  her  knee 
And  frothed  the  whole  pool  into  a  fairy  storm !     .     .     . 
So,  stooping  through  our  skies,  of  old,  there  came 
Angels  that  once  could  set  this  world's  dark  pool 
a-flame, 

XI 

From  which  the  seas  of  faith  have  ebbed  away, 
Leaving  the  lonely  shore  too  bright,  too  bare, 
While  mirrored  softly  in  the  smooth  wet  sand 
A  deeper  sunset  sees  its  blooms  expand 

But  all  too  phantom-fair, 
Between  the  dark  brown  rocks  and  sparkling  spray 
Where  the  low  ripples  pleaded,  shrank  and  sighed, 
And   tossed   a  moment's  rainbow   heavenward   ere 
they  died. 

XII 

Stoop,  starry  souls,  incline  to  this  dark  coast, 

Where  all  too  long,  too  faithlessly,  we  dream. 
Stoop  to  the  world's  dark  pool,  its  crags  and  scars, 
Its  yellow  sands,  its  rosy  harbor-bars, 

And  soft  green  wastes  that  gleam 
But  with  some  glorious  drifting  god-like  ghost 
Of  cloud,  some  vaguely  passionate  crimson  stain: 
Rend  the  blue  waves  of  heaven,  shatter  our  sleep 
again ! 

[  3o] 


THE  ISLAND  HAWK 

(a  song  for  the  first  launching  of  his 
majesty's  aerial  navy.) 

I 

Chorus  — 

Ships  have  swept  with  my  conquering  name 

Over  the  waves  of  war, 
Swept  thro'  the  Spaniards'  thunder  and  flame 

To  the  splendor  of  Trafalgar: 
On  the  blistered  decks  of  their  great  renown, 

In  the  wind  of  my  storm-beat  wings, 
Hawkins  and  Hawke  went  sailing  down 
To  the  harbor  of  deep-sea  kings! 

By  the  storm-beat  wings  of  the  hawk,  the  hawk, 

Bent  beak  and  pitiless  breast, 
They  clove  their  way  thro'  the  red  sea-fray: 
Who  wakens  me  now  to  the  quest? 

II 

Hushed  are  the  whimpering  winds  oa  the  hill, 

Dumb  is  the  shrinking  plain, 
And  the  songs  that  enchanted  the  woods  are  still 

As  I  shoot  to  the  skies  again ! 
[  3i  ] 


THE  ISLAND  HAWK 

Does  the  blood  grow  black  on  my  fierce  bent  beak, 

Does  the  down  still  cling  to  my  claw  ? 
Who  brightened  these  eyes  for  the  prey  they  seek  ? 
Life,  I  follow  thy  law ! 

For  I  am  the  hawk,  the  hawk,  the  hawk! 

Who  knoweth  my  pitiless  breast? 
Who  watcheth  me  sway  in  the  wild  wind's  wayf 
Flee  —  flee  —  for  I  quest,  I  guest. 

in 

As  I  glide  and  glide  with  my  peering  head, 

Or  swerve  at  a  puff  of  smoke, 
Who  watcheth  my  wings  on  the  wind  outspread, 

Here  —  gone  —  with  an  instant  stroke  ? 
Who  toucheth  the  glory  of  life  I  feel 

As  I  buffet  this  great  glad  gale, 
Spire  and  spire  to  the  cloud-world,  wheel, 
Loosen  my  wings  and  sail? 

For  I  am  the  hawk,  the  island  hawk, 
Who  knoweth  my  pitiless  breastf 
Who  watcheth  me  sway  in  the  sun's  bright  wayf 
Flee  —  flee  —  for  I  quest,  I  guest. 

rv 

Had  they  given  me  "  Cloud-cuckoo-city  "  to  guard 
Between  mankind  and  the  sky, 
[32] 


THE  ISLAND  HAWK 

Tho'  the  dew  might  shine  on  an  April  sward, 

Iris  had  ne'er  passed  by ! 
Swift  as  her  beautiful  wings  might  be 

From  the  rosy  Olympian  hill, 
Had  Epops  entrusted  the  gates  to  me 
Earth  were  his  kingdom  still. 

For  I  am  the  hawk,  the  archer,  the  hawk! 

Who  knoweth  my  pitiless  breast? 
Who  watcheth  me  sway  in  the  wild  wind's  way\ 
Flee  —  flee  —  for  I  quest,  I  quest. 


My  mate  in  the  nest  on  the  high  bright  tree 

Blazing  with  dawn  and  dew, 
She  knoweth  the  gleam  of  the  world  and  the  glee 

As  I  drop  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue ; 
She  knoweth  the  fire  of  the  level  flight 
As  I  skim,  close,  close  to  the  ground, 
With  the  long  grass  lashing  my  breast  and  the  bright 
Dew-drops  flashing  around. 

She  watcheth  the  hawk,  the  hawk,  the  hawk 

(O,  the  red-blotched  eggs  in  the  nest  J) 
'Watcheth  him  sway  in  the  sun's  bright  way; 
Flee  —  flee  —  for  I  quest,  I  quest. 


[33  ] 


THE  ISLAND  HAWK 

VI 

She  builded  her  nest  on  the  high  bright  wold, 

She  was  taught  in  a  world  afar, 
The  lore  that  is  only  an  April  old 

Yet  old  as  the  evening  star ; 
Life  of  a  far  off  ancient  day 

In  an  hour  unhooded  her  eyes; 
In  the  time  of  the  budding  of  one  green  spray 
She  was  wise  as  the  stars  are  wise. 

Brown  flower  of  the  tree  of  the  hawk,  the  hawk, 

On  the  old  elm's  burgeoning  breast, 
She  watcheth  me  sway  in  the  wild  wind's  way: 
Flee  —  flee  —  for  I  quest,  I  quest. 

VII 

Spirit  and  sap  of  the  sweet  swift  Spring, 

Fire  of  our  island  soul, 
Burn  in  her  breast  and  pulse  in  her  wing 

While  the  endless  ages  roll; 
Avatar  —  she  —  of  the  perilous  pride 

That  plundered  the  golden  West, 
Her  glance  is  a  sword,  but  it  sweeps  too  wide 

For  a  rumor  to  trouble  her  rest. 

She  goeth  her  glorious  way,  the  hawk, 
She  nurseth  her  brood  alone: 

[  34] 


THE  ISLAND  HAWK 

She  will  not  swoop  for  an  owlet's  whoop, 
She  hath  calls  and  cries  of  her  own. 

VIII 

There  was  never  a  dale  in  our  isle  so  deep 

That  her  wide  wings  were  not  free 
To  soar  to  the  sovran  heights  and  keep 

Sight  of  the  rolling  sea: 
Is  it  there,  is  it  here  in  the  rolling  skies, 

The  realm  of  her  future  fame? 
Look  once,  look  once  in  her  glittering  eyes, 
Ye  shall  find  her  the  same,  the  same. 

Up  to  the  skies  with  the  hawk,  the  hawk, 

As  it  was  in  the  days  of  old! 
Ye  shall  sail  once  more,  ye  shall  soar,  ye  shall  soar 
To  the  new-found  realms  of  gold. 

IX 

She  hath  ridden  on  white  Arabian  steeds 

Thro'  the  ringing  English  dells, 
For  the  joy  of  a  great  queen,  hunting  in  state, 

To  the  music  of  golden  bells ; 
A  queen's  fair  fingers  have  drawn  the  hood 

And  tossed  her  aloft  in  the  blue, 

[  35  ] 


THE  ISLAND  HAWK 

A  white  hand  eager  for  needless  blood ; 
I  hunt  for  the  needs  of  two. 

Yet  I  am  the  hawk,  the  hawk,  the  hawk  I 

Who  knoweth  my  pitiless  breast? 
Who<  watcheth  me  sway  in  the  sun's  bright  wayf 
Flee  —  flee  —  for  I  quest,  I  quest. 

X 

Who  fashioned  her  wide  and  splendid  eyes 

That  have  stared  in  the  eyes  of  kings  ? 
With  a  silken  twist  she  was  looped  to  their  wrist: 

She  has  clawed  at  their  jewelled  rings! 
Who  flung  her  first  thro'  the  crimson  dawn 

To  pluck  him  a  prey  from  the  skies, 
When  the  love-light  shone  upon  lake  and  lawn 
In  the  valleys  of  Paradise? 

Who  fashioned  the  hawk,  the  hawk,  the  hawk, 

Bent  beak  and  pitiless  breast? 
Who  watcheth  him  sway  in  the  wild  wind's  way? 
Flee  —  flee  —  for  I  quest,  I  quest. 

XI 

Is  there  ever  a  song  in  all  the  world 

Shall  say  how  the  quest  began 
With  the  beak  and  the  wings  that  have  made  us  kings 

And  cruel  —  almost  —  as  man? 
[  36  ] 


THE  ISLAND  HAWK 

The  wild  wind  whimpers  across  the  heath 

Where  the  sad  little  tufts  of  blue 
And  the  red-stained  gray  little  feathers  of  death 
Flutter!     Who  fashioned  us?     Who? 

Who  fashioned  the  scimitar  wings  of  the  hawk, 

Bent  beak  and  arrowy  breast? 
Who  watcheth  him  sway  in  the  suns  bright  way? 
Flee  —  flee  —  for  I  quest,  I  quest. 

xn 

Linnet  and  wood-pecker,  red-cap  and  jay, 

Shriek  that  a  doom  shall  fall 
One  day,  one  day,  on  my  pitiless  way 

From  the  sky  that  is  over  us  all ; 
But  the  great  blue  hawk  of  the  heavens  above 

Fashioned  the  world  for  his  prey, — 
King  and  queen  and  hawk  and  dove, 
We  shall  meet  in  his  clutch  that  day; 

Shall  I  not  welcome  him,  I,  the  hawk? 

Yea,  cry,  as  they  shrink  from  his  claw, 
Cry,  as  I  die,  to  the  unknown  sky, 
Life,  I  follow  thy  law! 


[37] 


THE  ISLAND  HAWK 

XIII 
Chorus  — 

Ships  have  swept  with  my  conquering  name    ... 

Over  the  world  and  beyond, 
Hark!     Bellerophon,  Marlborough,  Thunderer, 

Condor,  respond !  — 
On  the  blistered  decks  of  their  dread  renown, 

In  the  rush  of  my  storm-beat  wings, 
Hawkins  and  Hawke  went  sailing  down 
To  the  glory  of  deep-sea  kings! 

By  the  storm-beat  wings  of  the  hawk,  the  hawk, 

Bent  beak  and  pitiless  breast, 
They  clove  their  way  thro'  the  red  sea-fray! 
Who  wakens  me  now  to  the  quest. 


[38] 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  GHOST 

T  TELL  you  a  tale  to-night 
■*•    Which  a  seaman  told  to  me, 
With  eyes  that  gleamed  in  the  lanthorn  light 
And  a  voice  as  low  as  the  sea. 

You  could  almost  hear  the  stars 

Twinkling  up  in  the  sky, 
And  the  old  wind  woke  and  moaned  in  the  spars, 

And  the  same  old  waves  went  by, 

Singing  the  same  old  song 

As  ages  and  ages  ago, 
While  he  froze  my  blood  in  that  deep-sea  night 

With  the  things  that  he  seemed  to  know. 

A  bare  foot  pattered  on  deck ; 

Ropes  creaked ;  then  —  all  grew  still, 
And  he  pointed  his  finger  straight  in  my  face 

And  growled,  as  a  sea-dog  will. 

"  Do'ee  know  who  Nelson  was? 

That  pore  little  shrivelled  form, 
With  the  patch  on  his  eye  and  the  pinned-up  sleeve 

And  a  soul  like  a  North  Sea  storm  ? 

[39] 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  GHOST 

"  Ask  of  the  Devonshire  men ! 

They  know,  and  they'll  tell  you  true ; 
He  wasn't  the  pore  little  chawed-up  chap 

That  Hardy  thought  he  knew. 

"  He  wasn't  the  man  you  think ! 

His  patch  was  a  dern  disguise! 
For  he  knew  that  they'd  find  him  out,  d'you  see, 

If  they  looked  him  in  both  his  eyes. 

"  He  was  twice  as  big  as  he  seemed ; 

But  his  clothes  were  cunningly  made. 
He'd  both  of  his  hairy  arms  all  right! 

The  sleeve  was  a  trick  of  the  trade. 

"  You've  heard  of  sperrits,  no  doubt ; 

Well,  there's  more  in  the  matter  than  that! 
But  he  wasn't  the  patch  and  he  wasn't  the  sleeve, 

And  he  wasn't  the  laced  cocked-hat. 

"  Nelson  was  just  —  a  Ghost! 

You  may  laugh!     But  the  Devonshire  men 
They  knew  that  he'd  come  when  England  called, 

And  they  know  that  he'll  come  again. 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  way  it  was 

(For  none  of  the  landsmen  know)', 
[40] 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  GHOST 

And  to  tell  it  you  right,  you  must  go  a-starn 
Two  hundred  years  or  so. 


"  The  waves  were  lapping  and  slapping 

The  same  as  they  are  to-day; 
And  Drake  lay  dying  aboard  his  ship 

In  Nombre  Dios  Bay. 

"  The  scent  of  the  foreign  flowers 

Came  floating  all  around ; 
1  But  I'd  give  my  soul  for  the  smell  o'  the  pitch,' 

Says  he,  '  in  Plymouth  Sound. 

" '  What  shall  I  do,'  he  says, 

1  When  the  guns  begin  to  roar, 
An'  England  wants  me,  and  me  not  there 

To  shatter  'er  foes  once  more  ?  ' 

"  (You've  heard  what  he  said,  maybe, 

But  I'll  mark  you  the  p'ints  again; 
For  I  want  you  to  box  your  compass  right 

And  get  my  story  plain.) 

"  '  You  must  take  my  drum,'  he  says, 
1  To  the  old  sea-wall  at  home ; 

[41  ] 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  GHOST 

And  if  ever  you  strike  that  drum,'  he  says, 
'  Why,  strike  me  blind,  I'll  come! 

"  '  If  England  needs  me,  dead 

Or  living,  I'll  rise  that  day! 
I'll  rise  from  the  darkness  under  the  sea 

Ten  thousand  miles  away.' 

"  That's  what  he  said ;  and  he  died  ; 

An'  his  pirates,  listenin'  roun', 
With  their  crimson  doublets  and  jewelled  swords 

That  flashed  as  the  sun  went  down. 

11  They  sewed  him  up  in  his  shroud 

With  a  round-shot  top  and  toe, 
To  sink  him  under  the  salt  sharp  sea 

Where  all  good  seamen  go. 

"  They  lowered  him  down  in  the  deep, 

And  there  in  the  sunset  light 
They  boomed  a  broadside  over  his  grave, 

As  meanin'  to  say  '  Good-night.' 

"  They  sailed  away  in  the  dark 
To  the  dear  little  isle  they  knew ; 
[42] 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  GHOST 

And  they  hung  his  drum  by  the  old  sea-wall, 
The  same  as  he  told  them  to. 


"  Two  hundred  years  went  by, 

And  the  guns  began  to  roar, 
And  England  was  fighting  hard  for  her  life, 

As  ever  she  fought  of  yore. 

"  '  It's  only  my  dead  that  count,' 

She  said,  as  she  says  to-day; 
'  It  isn't  the  ships  and  it  isn't  the  guns 

'Ull  sweep  Trafalgar's  Bay.' 

"  D'you  guess  who  Nelson  was  ? 

You  may  laugh,  but  it's  true  as  true ! 
There  was  more  in  that  pore  little  chawed-up  chap 

Than  ever  his  best  friend  knew. 

"  The  foe  was  creepin'  close, 

In  the  dark,  to  our  white-cliffed  isle; 

They  were  ready  to  leap  at  England's  throat, 
When  —  O,  you  may  smile,  you  may  smile ; 

"  But  —  ask  of  the  Devonshire  men ; 
For  they  heard  in  the  dead  of  night 
[43  ] 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  GHOST 

The  roll  of  a  drum,  and  they  saw  him  pass 
On  a  ship  all  shining  white. 

"  He  stretched  out  his  dead  cold  face, 
And  he  sailed  in  the  grand  old  way! 

The  fishes  had  taken  an  eye  and  an  arm, 
But  he  swept  Trafalgar's  Bay. 

11  Nelson  —  was  Francis  Drake ! 

O,  what  matters  the  uniform, 
Or  the  patch  on  your  eye  or  your  pinned-up  sleeve, 

If  your  soul's  like  a  North  Sea  storm  ?  " 


[44] 


EDINBURGH 


/*  ITY  of  mist  and  rain  and  blown  gray  spaces, 
^^    Dashed  with  wild  wet  color  and  gleam  of  tears, 
Dreaming  in  Holyrood  halls  of  the  passionate  faces 

Lifted  to  one  Queen's  face  that  has  conquered  the 
years, 
Are  not  the  halls  of  thy  memory  haunted  places? 

Cometh  there  not  as  a  moon  (where  the  blood-rust 
sears 
Floors  a-flutter  of  old  with  silks  and  laces), 

Gliding,  a  ghostly  Queen,  thro'  a  mist  of  tears? 

u 

Proudly  here,  with  a  loftier  pinnacled  splendor, 

Throned  in  his  northern  Athens,  what  spells  remain 
Still  on  the  marble  lips  of  the  Wizard,  and  render 

Silent  the  gazer  on  glory  without  a  stain ! 
Here  and  here,  do  we  whisper,  with  hearts  more  tender, 

Tusitala  wandered  thro'  mist  and  rain ; 
Rainbow-eyed  and  frail  and  gallant  and  slender, 

Dreaming  of  pirate-isles  in  a  jewelled  main. 


[45] 


EDINBURGH 


in 


Up  the  Canongate  climbeth,  cleft  asunder 

Raggedly  here,  with  a  glimpse  of  the  distant  sea 
Flashed    through    a    Crumbling    alley,    a    glimpse    of 
wonder, 

Nay,  for  the  City  is  throned  on  Eternity! 
Hark !  from  the  soaring  castle  a  cannon's  thunder 

Closeth  an  hour  for  the  world  and  an  aeon  for  me, 
Gazing  at  last  from  the  martial  heights  whereunder 

Deathless  memories  roll  to  an  ageless  sea. 


[46] 


RED  OF  THE  DAWN 


THE  Dawn  peered  in  with  blood-shot  eyes 
Pressed  close  against  the  cracked  old  'pane. 
The  garret  slept:  the  slow  sad  rain 
Had  ceased :  gray  fogs  obscured  the  skies ; 
But  Dawn  peered  in  with  haggard  eyes. 

II 

All  as  last  night?    The  three-legged  chair, 
The  bare  walls  and  the  tattered  bed, 
All !  —  but  for  those  wild  flakes  of  red 
(And  Dawn,  perhaps,  had  splashed  them  there!) 
Round  the  bare  walls,  the  bed,  the  chair. 

ill 

'Twas  here,  last  night,  when  winds  were  loud, 
A  ragged  singing-girl,  she  came 
Out  of  the  tavern's  glare  and  shame, 
With  some  few  pence  —  for  she  was  proud  — 
Came  home  to  sleep,  when  winds  were  loud. 


[47] 


RED  OF  THE  DAWN 


IV 


And  she  sleeps  well ;  for  she  was  tired ! 
That  huddled  shape  beneath  the  sheet 
With  knees  up-drawn,  no  wind  or  sleet 

Can  wake  her  now !     Sleep  she  desired ; 

And  she  sleeps  well,  for  she  was  tired. 


And  there  was  one  that  followed  her 

With  some  unhappy  curse  called  "  love  " : 
Last  night,  though  winds  beat  loud  above, 
She  shrank!     Hark,  on  the  creaking  stair, 
What  stealthy  footstep  followed  her? 

VI 

But  now  the  Curse,  it  seemed,  had  gone! 
The  small  tin-box,  wherein  she  hid 
Old  childish  treasures,  had  burst  its  lid, 
Dawn  kissed  her  doll's  cracked  face.     It  shone 
Red-smeared,  but  laughing  —  the  Curse  is  gone. 

vn 

So  she  sleeps  well :  she  does  not  move ; 
And  on  the  wall,  the  chair,  the  bed, 
Is  it  the  Dawn  that  splashes  red, 
[  48  ] 


RED  OF  THE  DAWN 

High  as  the  text  where  God  is  Love 
Hangs  o'er  her  head  ?     She  does  not  move. 

vm 

The  clock  dictates  its  old  refrain: 
All  else  is  quiet;  or,  far  away, 
Shaking  the  world  with  new-born  day, 

There  thunders  past  some  mighty  train: 

The  clock  dictates  its  old  refrain. 

IX 

The  Dawn  peers  in  with  blood-shot  eyes: 
The  crust,  the  broken  cup  are  there! 
She  does  not  rise  yet  to  prepare 

Her  scanty  meal.     God  does  not  rise 

And  pluck  the  blood-stained  sheet  from  her; 

But  Dawn  peers  in  with  haggard  eyes. 


I  49] 


LAVENDER 

T    AVENDER,  lavender, 

■■^  That  makes  your  linen  sweet; 

The  hawker  brings  his  basket 

Down  the  sooty  street: 
The  dirty  doors  and  pavements 

Are  simmering  in  the  heat: 
He  brings  a  dream  to  London, 

And  drags  his  weary  feet. 

Lavender,  lavender, 

From  where  the  bee  hums, 
To  the  loud  roar  of  London, 

With  purple  dreams  he  comes, 
From  ragged  lanes  of  wild-flowers 

To  ragged  London  slums, 
With  a  basket  full  of  lavender 

And  purple  dreams  he  comes. 

Is  it  nought  to  you  that  hear  him? 

With  the  old  strange  cry 
The  weary  hawker  passes, 

And  some  will  come  and  buy, 
And  some  will  let  him  pass  away 

And  only  heave  a  sigh, 
[  50] 


LAVENDER 

But  most  will  neither  heed  nor  hear 
When  dreams  go  by. 

Lavender,  lavender! 

His  songs  were  fair  and  sweet, 
He  brought  us  harvests  out  of  heaven, 

Full  sheaves  of  radiant  wheat; 
He  brought  us  keys  to  Paradise, 

And  hawked  them  thro'  the  street; 
He  brought  his  dreams  to  London, 

And  dragged  his  weary  feet. 

Lavender,  lavender! 

He  is  gone.    The  sunset  glows; 
But  through  the  brain  of  London 

The  mystic  fragrance  flows. 
Each  foggy  cell  remembers, 

Each  ragged  alley  knows, 
The  land  he  left  behind  him, 

The  land  to  which  he  goes. 


I  Si  J 


THE  DREAM-CHILD'S  INVI- 
TATION 


ONCE  upon  a  time!  —  Ah,  now  the  light  is  burn- 
ing dimly, 
Peterkin  is  here  again :  he  wants  another  tale ! 
Don't  you  hear  him  whispering —  The  wind  is  in  the 
chimley, 
The  ottoman's  a  treasure-ship,  we'll  all  set  sailf 

u 

All  set  sail  ?     No,  the  wind  is  very  loud  to-night : 
The  darkness  on  the  waters  is  much  deeper  than  of 
yore, 
Yet    I    wonder  —  hark,   he   whispers — if   the   little 
streets  are  still  as  bright 
In  old  Japan,  in  old  Japan,  that  happy  haunted 
shore. 

in 
I  wonder  —  hush,  he  whispers  —  if  perhaps  the  world 
will  wake  again 
iWhen  Christmas  brings  the  stories  back  from  where 
the  skies  are  blue, 

[52] 


THE  DREAM-CHILD'S  INVITATION 

Where  clouds  are  scattering  diamonds  down  on  every 
cottage  window-pane, 
And  every  boy's  a  fairy  prince,  and  every  tale  is 
true. 


IV 


There  the  sword  Excalibur  is  thrust  into  the  dragon's 
throat, 
Evil    there   is   evil,    black    is   black,    and   white    is 
white : 
There  the  child  triumphant  hurls  the  villain  splutter- 
ing into  the  moat; 
There  the  captured  princess  only  waits  the  peerless 
knight. 


Fairyland    is   gleaming   there   beyond    the   Sherwood 
Forest  trees, 
There  the  City  of  the  Clouds  has  anchored  on  the 
plain 
All  her  misty  vistas  and  slumber-rosy  palaces 

(Shall   we   not,   ah,   shall   we   not,   wander   there 
again?) 


[53] 


THE  DREAM-CHILD'S  INVITATION 

VI 

"  Happy  ever  after  "  there,  the  lights  of  home  a  wel- 
come fling 
Softly  thro'  the  darkness  as  the  star  that  shone 
of  old, 
Softly   over    Bethlehem    and    o'er   the   little  cradled 
King 
Whom  the  sages  worshipped  with  their  frankincense 
and  gold. 

vn 

Once  upon  a  time  —  perhaps  a  hundred  thousand  years 
ago  — 
Whisper  to  me,  Peterkin,  I  have  forgotten  when ! 
Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  way,  a  way  we  used  to 
know 
For  stealing  off  at  twilight  from  the  weary  ways  of 
men. 

VIII 

Whisper  it,  O  whisper  it  —  the  way,  the  way  is  all  I 
need! 
All  the  heart  and  will  are  here  and  all  the  deep 
desire ! 
Once  upon  a  time  —  ah,  now  the  light  is  drawing  near 
indeed, 
I   see   the   fairy   faces   flush   to    roses   round    the 
fire. 

[54] 


THE  DREAM-CHILD'S  INVITATION 

IX 

Once  upon  a  time  —  the  little  lips  are  on  my  cheek 
again, 
Little  fairy  fingers  clasped  and  clinging  draw  me 
nigh, 
Dreams,  no  more  than  dreams,  but  they  unloose  the 
weary  prisoner's  chain 
And    lead    him    from    his    dungeon !     "  What's    a 
thousand  years?"  they  cry. 


A  thousand  years,  a  thousand  years,  a  little  drifting 
dream  ago, 
All  of  us  were  hunting  with  a  band  of  merry  men, 
The  skies  were  blue,  the  boughs  were  green,  the  clouds 
were  crisping  isles  of  snow  .  .  . 
...  So  Robin  blew  his  bugle,  and  the  Now  became 
the  Then. 


[55] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

(an  episode  in  the  life  of  a  corn-flower 
millionaire.) 


A  LL  the  way  to  Fairyland  across  the  thyme  and 
**  ^         heather, 

Round  a  little  bank  of  fern  that  rustled  on  the  sky, 
Me  and  stick  and  bundle,  sir,  we  jogged  along  to- 
gether,— 
(Changeable  the  weather?    Well  —  it  ain't  all  pie !) 
Just    about    the    sunset  —  Won't    you    listen    to    my 
story  ?  — 
Look  at  me!     I'm  only  rags  and  tatters  to  your 
eyel 
Sir,  that  blooming  sunset  crowned  this  battered  hat  with 
glory! 
Me  that  was  a  crawling  worm  became  a  butterfly  — 

(Ain't  it  hot  and  dry? 
Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you,  sir!)  a  blooming  butterfly. 


[  56] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

n 

Well,  it  happened  this  way !    I  was  lying  loose  and  lazy, 
Just  as  of  a  Sunday,  you  yourself  might  think  no 
shame, 
Puffing  little  clouds  of  smoke,  and  picking  at  a  daisy, 
Dreaming  of  your  dinner,  p'raps,  or  wishful  for  the 
same: 
Suddenly,    around    that     ferny    bank    there    slowly 
waddled  — 
Slowly  as  the  finger  of  a  clock  her  shadow  came  — 
Slowly   as   a   tortoise    down   that   winding   path    she 
toddled  — 
Leaning  on  a  crooked  staff,  a  poor  old  crooked  dame, 

Limping,  but  not  lame, 
Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  a  poor  old  crooked  dame. 

Ill 

Slowly  did  I  say,  sir?     Well,  you've  heard  that  funny 
fable 
Consekint  the  tortoise  and  the  race  it  gave  an  'are? 
This  was  curiouser  than  that !     At  first  I  wasn't  able 
Quite  to  size  the  memory  up  that  bristled  thro'  my 
hair : 
Suddenly,  I'd  got  it,  with  a  nasty  shivery  feeling, 
WTiile  she  walked  and  walked  and  yet  was  not  a  bit 
more  near, — 

[57] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Sir,    it   was   the   tread-mill   earth   beneath   her    feet 
a-wheeling 
Faster    than    her    feet   could   trot    to   heaven    or 
anywhere, 

Earth's  revolvin*  stair 
Wheeling,  while  my  wayside  clump  was  kind  of 
anchored  there. 

IV 

'Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  and  just  a  little  nearer, 

Inch  and  'arf  an  inch  she  went,  but  never  gained  a 
yard: 
Quiet  as  a  fox  I  lay;  I  didn't  wish  to  scare  'er, 

Watching  thro'  the  ferns,  and  thinking  "  What  a 
rum  old  card !  " 
Both  her  wrinkled   tortoise  eyes  with   yellow   resin 
oozing, 
Both  her  poor  old  bony  hands  were  red  and  seamed 
and  scarred! 
Lord,  I  felt  as  if  myself  was  in  a  public  boozing, 
While  my  own  old  woman  went  about  and  scrubbed 
and  charred! 

Lord,  it  seemed  so  hard! 
Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  she  never  gained  a  yard. 


[58] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

v 

Yus,  and  there  in  front  of  her  —  I  hadn't  seen  it 
rightly  — 
Lurked  that  little  finger-post  to  point  another  road, 
Just  a  tiny  path  of  poppies  twisting  infi-nite-ly 

Through  the  whispering  seas  of  wheat,  a  scarlet 
thread  that  showed 
White  with  ox-eye  daisies  here  and  there  and  chalky 
cobbles, 
Blue  with  waving  corn-flowers:  far  and  far  away  it 
glowed, 
Winding  into  heaven,  I  thinks ;  but,  Lord,  the  way  she 
hobbles, 
Lord,  she'll  never  reach  it,  for  she  bears  too  great 
a  load; 

Yus,  and  then  I  knowed, 
If  she  did,  she  couldn't,  for  the  board  was  marked 
No  Road. 

VI 

Tick j  tack,  tick t  tack,  I  couldn't  wait  no  longer! 

Up  I  gets  and  bows  polite  and  pleasant  as  a  toff  — 
"  Arternoon,"  I  says,  "  I'm  glad  your  boots  are  going 
stronger ; 
Only  thing  I'm  dreading  is  your   feet   'ull  both 
come  off." 

[59] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  she  didn't  stop  to  answer, 
"  Arternoon,"  she  says,  and  sort  o'  chokes  a  little 
cough, 
"  I  must  get  to  Piddinghoe  to-morrow  if  I  can,  sir !  " 
"  Demme,  my  good  woman !     Haw !     Don't  think  I 
mean  to  loff," 

Says  I,  like  a  toff, 
"Where  d'you  mean  to  sleep  to-night?    God  made 
this  grass  for  go'ff." 

VII 

Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  and  smilingly  she  eyed  me 

(Dreadful  the  low  cunning  of  these  creechars,  don't 
you  think?) 
"That's   all    right!    The   weather's   bright.    Them 
bushes  there  'ull  hide  me. 
Don't  the  gorse  smell  nice?  "     I  felt  my  derned  old 
eyelids  blink! 
"Supper?     I've  a  crust  of  bread,  a  big  one,  and  a 
bottle," 
(Just  as  I  expected!     Ah,  these  creechars  always 
drink!) 
"  Sugar  and  water  and  half  a  pinch  of  tea  to  rinse  my 
throttle, 

[60] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Then  I'll  Curl  up  cosy!" — "If  you're  cotched  it 

means  the  clink!  " 

— "  Yus,  but  don't  you  think 
If  a  star  should  see  me,  God  'ull  tell  that  star  to 

wink?" 

VIII 

"  Now,  look  here,"  I  says,  "  I  don't  know  what  your 
blooming  age  is !  " 
"  Three-score  years  and  five,"  she  says,  "  that's  five 
more  years  to  go 
Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  before  I  gets  my  wages !  " 

"  Wages  all  be  damned,"  I  says,  "  there's  one  thing 
that  I  know  — 
Gals  that  stay  out  late  o'  nights  are  sure  to  meet  wi' 
sorrow. 
Speaking  as  a  toff,"  I  says,  "  it  isn't  comme  il  faut! 
Tell    me    why    you    want    to    get    to    Piddinghoe 
to-morrow." — 
"  That  was  where  my  son  worked,  twenty  years 


ago 


!  " 


"  Twenty  years  ago  ? 
Never    wrote?     May    still    be    there?     Remember 
you  ?  .  .  .  Just  so !  " 


[61  ] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

IX 

Yus,  it  was  a  drama;  but  she  weren't  my  long-lost 
parent ! 
Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  she  trotted  all  the  while, 
Never  getting  forrarder,  and  not  the  least  aware  on't, 
Though  I  stood  beside  her  with  a  sort  of  silly  smile 
Stock-still!     Tick,   tack/    This   blooming   world's   a 
bubble : 
There  I  stood  and  stared  at  it,  mile  on  flowery  mile, 
Chasing  o'  the  sunset. — "  Gals  are  sure  to  meet  wi' 
trouble 
Staying  out  o'  nights,"  I  says,  once  more,  and  tries  to 
smile, 

"  Come,  that  ain't  your  style, 
Here's  a  shilling,  mother,  for  to-day  I've  made  my 
pile!" 

x 

Yus,  a  dozen  coppers,  all  my  capital,  it  fled,  sir, 

Representin'  twelve  bokays  that  cost  me  nothink  each, 
Twelve  bokays  o'  corn-flowers  blue  that  grew  beside 
my  bed,  sir, 
That  same  day,  at  sunrise,  when  the  sky  was  like  a 
peach : 
Easy  as  a  poet's  dreams  they  blossomed  round  my 
head,  sir, 

[62] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

All  I  had  to  do  was  just  to  lift  my  hand  and  reach : 
So,  upon  the  roaring  waves  I  cast  my  blooming  bread, 
sir, 
Bread  I'd  earned  with  nose-gays  on  the  bare-fut 
Brighton  beach, 

Nose-gays  and  a  speech, 
All  about  the  bright  blue  eyes  they  matched  on 
Brighton  Beach. 

XI 

Still,  you've  only  got  to  hear  the  bankers  on  the  budget, 
Then  you'll  know  the  giving  game  is  hardly  "  high 
finance  " ; 
Which  no  more  it  wasn't  for  that  poor  old  dame  to 

trudge  it, 
Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  on  such  a  devil's  dance : 
Crumbs,  it  took  me  quite  aback  to  see  her  stop  so 
humble, 
Casting  up  into  my  face  a  sort  of  shiny  glance, 
Bless  you,  bless  you,  that  was  what  I  thought  I  heard 
her  mumble,  v 

Lord,  a  prayer  for  poor  old  Bill,  a  rummy  sort  of 
chance! 

Crumbs,  that  shiny  glance 
Kinder  made  me  king  of  all  the  sky  from  here  to 
France. 

[63  ] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

XII 

Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  but  now  she  toddled  faster: 
Soon  she'd  reach  the  little  twisted  by-way  through 
the  wheat. 
"  Look'ee  here,"  I  says,  "  young  woman,  don't  you  court 
disaster ! 
Peepin'  through  yon  poppies  there's  a  cottage  trim 
and  neat, 
White  as  chalk  and  sweet  as  turf:  wot  price  a  bed  for 
sorrow, 
Sprigs   of   lavender   between    the   pillow   and    the 
sheet?" 
"  No,"  she  says,  "  I've  got  to  get  to  Piddinghoe  to- 
morrow ! 
P'raps  they'd  tell  the  work'us!     And  I've  lashings 
here  to  eat: 

Don't  the  gorse  smell  sweet?"  .  .  . 
Well,  I  turned  and  left  her  plodding  on  beside  the 
wheat. 

XIII 

Every  cent  I'd  given  her  like  a  hero  in  a  story ; 

Yet,  alone  with  leagues  of  wheat  I  seemed  to  grow 
aware 
Solomon  himself,  arrayed  in  all  his  golden  glory, 

[64] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Couldn't  vie  with  Me,  the  corn-flower  king,  the 
millionaire ! 
How  to  cash  those  bright  blue  checques  that  night? 
My  trouser  pockets 
Jingled    sudden!     Six    more    pennies,    crept    from 
James  knew  where! 
Crumbs!     I  hurried  back  with  eyes  just  bulging  from 
their  sockets, 
Pushed  'em  in  the  old  dame's  fist  and  listened  for 
the  prayer, 

Shamming  not  to  care, 
Bill  —  the   blarsted    chicken-thief,    the    corn-flower 
millionaire. 

XIV 

Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  and  faster  yet  she  clattered ! 
Aye,  she'd  almost  gained  a  yard !     I  left  her  once 
again. 
Feeling  very  warm  inside  and  sort  of  'ighly  flattered, 

On  I  plodded,  all  alone,  with  hay-stacks  in  my  brain. 

Suddenly,  with  chink  —  chink  —  chink,  the  old  sweet 

jingle 

Startled   me!     'Twas  thruppence   more!    three 

coppers  round  and  plain! 

Lord,  temptation  struck  me  and  I  felt  my  gullet  tingle. 

[65  ] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Then  —  I  hurried  back  beside  them  seas  of  golden 

grain : 

No,  I  can't  explain ; 
There  I  thrust  'em  in  her  fist,  and  left  her  once 

again. 


xv 

Tinkle-chink!    Three    ha'pence!    If    the    vulgar 
fractions  followed, 
Big   fleas  have   little   fleas!     It   flashed    upon    me 
there, — 
Like  the  snakes  of  Pharaoh  which  the  snakes  of  Moses 
swallowed 
All  the  world  was  playing  at  the  tortoise  and  the 
hare: 
Half   the  smallest   atom   is  —  my   soul   was   getting 
tipsy  — 
Heaven  is  one  big  circle  and  the  centre's  everywhere, 
Yus,  and  that  old  woman  was  an  angel  and  a  gipsy, 
Yus,   and   Bill,    the   chicken-thief,   the  corn-flower 
millionaire, 

Shamming  not  to  care, 
What  was  he  ?    A  seraph  on  the  misty  rainbow-stair ! 


[66] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

XVI 

Don't  you  make  no  doubt  of  it !    The  deeper  that  you 

look,  sir, 

All  your  ancient  poets  tell  you  just  the  same  as  me, — 

What  about  old  Ovid  and  his  most  indecent  book,  sir, 

Morphosizing  females  into  flower  and  star  and  tree  ? 

What  about  old  Proteus  and  his  'ighly  curious  'abits, 

Mixing  of  his  old  gray  beard  into  the  old  gray  sea? 
What  about  old  Darwin  and  the  hat  that  brought  forth 
rabbits, 
Mud  and   slime   that   growed    into   the   pomp   of 
Ninevey  ? 

What  if  there  should  be 
One  great  Power  beneath  it  all,  one  God  in  you  and 
me? 

XVII 

Anyway,  it  seemed  to  me  I'd  struck  the  world's  pump- 
handle  ! 
"  Back  with  that  three  ha'pence,  Bill,"  I  mutters, 
"  or  you're  lost." 
Back  I  hurries  thro'  the  dusk  where,  shining  like  a 
candle, 
Pale  before  the  sunset  stood  that  fairy  finger-post. 
Sir,  she  wasn't  there!      I'd  struck  the  place  where 
all  roads  crost, 

[67  ] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

All  the  roads  in  all  the  world. 

She  couldn't  yet  have  trotted 
Even  to  the    .     .     .     Hist !  a  stealthy  step  behind  ? 
A  ghost? 
Swish!    A  flying  noose  had  caught  me  round  the  neck! 
Garotted ! 
Back  I  staggered,  clutching  at  the  moonbeams,  yus, 
almost 

Throttled!     Sir,  I  boast 
Bill  is  tough,  but     .     .     .    when  it  comes  to  throt- 
tling by  a  ghost! 

XVIII 

Winged  like  a  butterfly,  tall  and  slender 

Out  It  steps  with  the  rope  on  its  arm. 
"  Crumbs,"  I  says,  "  all  right  1     I  surrender! 

When  have  I  crossed  you  or  done  you  harm  ? 
Ef  you're  a  sperrit,"  I  says,  "  O,  crikey, 

Ef  you're  a  sperrit,  get  hence,  vamoose !  " 
Sweet  as  music,  she  spoke  —  "  I'm  Psyche !  " — 

Choking  me  still  with  her  silken  noose. 

XIX 

Straight  at  the  word  from  the  ferns  and  blossoms 

Fretting  the  moon-rise  over  the  downs, 
Little  blue  wings  and  little  white  bosoms, 

Little  white  faces  with  golden  crowns, 
[  68  ] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Peeped,  and  the  colors  came  twinkling  round  me, 
Laughed,  and  the  turf  grew  purple  with  thyme, 

Danced,  and  the  sweet  crushed  scents  nigh  drowned 
me, 
Sang,  and  the  hare-bells  rang  in  chime. 

XX 

All  around  me,  gliding  and  gleaming, 

Fair  as  a  fallen  sunset-sky, 
Butterfly  wings  came  drifting,  dreaming, 

Clouds  of  the  little  folk  clustered  nigh, 
Little  white  hands  like  pearls  uplifted 

Cords  of  silk  in  shimmering  skeins, 
Cast  them  about  me  and  dreamily  drifted 

Winding  me  round  with  their  soft  warm  chains. 

XXI 

Round  and  round  me  they  dizzily  floated, 

Binding  me  faster  with  every  turn : 
Crumbs,  my  pals  would  have  grinned  and  gloated 

Watching  me  over  that  fringe  of  fern, 
Bill,  with  his  battered  old  hat  outstanding 

Black  as  a  foam-swept  rock  to  the  moon, 
Bill,  like  a  rainbow  of  silks  expanding 

Into  a  beautiful  big  cocoon, — 
[69] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

xxn 

Big  as  a  cloud,  though  his  hat  still  crowned  him, 

Yus,  and  his  old  boots  bulged  below : 
Seas  of  color  went  shimmering  round  him, 

Dancing,  glimmering,  glancing,  a-glow! 
Bill  knew  well  what  them  elves  were  at,  sir,— 

Ain't  you  an  en-to-mol-o-gist  ? 
Well,  despite  of  his  old  black  hat,  sir, 

Bill  was  becoming  —  a  chrysalist. 


XXIII 

Muffled,  smothered  in  a  sea  of  emerald  and  opal, 
Down  a  dazzling  gulf  of  dreams  I  sank  and  sank 
away, 
Wound  about  with  twenty  thousand  yards  of  silken 
rope,  all 
Shimmering  into  crimson,  glimmering  into  gray, 
Drowsing,  waking,  living,  dying,  just  as  you  regards  it, 

Buried  in  a  sunset-cloud,  or  cloud  of  breaking  day, 
'Cording  as  from  East  or  West  yourself  might  look 
to-wards  it, 


[  70] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Losing,  gaining,  lost  in  darkness,  ragged,  grimy,  gay, 

'And-cufifed,  not  to  say 
Gagged,  but  both  my  shoulders  budding,  sprouting 
white  as  May. 

xxrv 

Sprouting  like  the  milky  buds  o'  hawthorn  in  the  night- 
time, 
Pouting  like  the  snowy  buds  o'  roses  in  July, 
Spreading  in  my  chrysalist  and  waiting  for  the  right 
time, 
When  —  I  thought  —  they'd  bust  to  wings  and  Bill 
would  rise  and  fly, 
Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  as  if  it  came  in  answer, 

Sweeping  o'er  my  head  again  the  tide  o'  dreams  went 

by- 
/  must  get  to  Phddinghoe  to-morrow  if  I  can,  sir, 
Tick,  tack,  a  crackle  in  my  chrysalist,  a  cry ! 

Then  the  warm  blue  sky 
Bust  the  shell,   and  out  crept  Bill  —  a  blooming 
butterfly! 


XXV 

Blue  as  a  corn-flower,  blazed  the  zenith :  the  deepening 
East  like  a  scarlet  poppy 

[71  ] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Burned  while,   dazzled  with  golden  bloom,  white 
clouds  like  daisies,  green  seas  like  wheat, 
Gripping  the  sign-post,  first,  I  climbs,  to  sun  my  wings, 
which  were  wrinkled  and  floppy, 

Spreading  'em  white  o'er  the  words  No  Road,  and 
hanging  fast  by  my  six  black  feet. 

XXVI 

Still  on  my  head  was  the  battered  old  beaver,  but 
through  it  my  clubbed  antennae  slanted, 
("Feelers"  yourself  would  probably  call  'em)   my 
battered  old  boots  were  hardly  seen 
Under  the  golden  fluff  of  the  tail!     It  was  Bill,  sir, 
Bill,  though  highly  enchanted, 
Spreading  his  beautiful  snow-white  pinions,  tipped 
with  orange  and  veined  with  green. 

XXVII 

Yus,  old  Bill  was  an  Orange-tip,  a  spirit  in  glory,  a 
blooming  Psyche ! 
New,  it  was  new  from  East  to  West  this  rummy  old 
world  that  I  dreamed  I  knew, 
How  can  I  tell  you  the  things  that  I  saw  with  my  — 
what    shall    I    call    'em ?—"  feelers "?  —  O, 
crikey, 
"  Feelers  "  ?    You  know  how  the  man  born  blind 
described  such  colors  as  scarlet  or  blue. 
[  72] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

XXVIH 

"  Scarlet,"  he  says,  "  is  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  blue  is 
a  flute,"  for  he  hasn't  a  notion ! 
No,  nor  nobody  living  on  earth  can  tell  it  him  plain, 
if  he  hasn't  the  sight ! 
That's  how  it  stands  with  ragged  old  Bill,  a-drift  and 
a-dream  on  a  measureless  ocean, 
Gifted  wi'  fifteen  new-born  senses,  and  seeing  you 
blind  to  their  new  strange  light. 

XXIX 

How  can  I  tell  you?     Sir,  you  must  wait,  till  you  die 
like  Bill,  ere  you  understand  it! 
Only  —  I  saw  —  the  same  as  a  bee  that  strikes  to  his 
hive  ten  leagues  away  — 
Straight  as  a  die,  while  I  winked  and  blinked  on  that 
sun-warmed  wood  and  my  wings  expanded 
(Whistler  drawings  that  men  call  wings)  — I  saw 
—  and  I  flew  —  that's  all  I  can  say. 

XXX 

Flew  over  leagues  of  whispering  wonder,  fairy  forests 
and  flowery  palaces, 
Love-lorn    casements,    delicate   kingdoms,    beautiful 
flaming  thoughts  of —  Him; 
[  73  ] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Feasts  of  a  million  blue-mailed  angels  lifting  their 
honey-and-wine-brimmed  chalices, 
Throned   upon   clouds —  (which  you'd   call   white 
clover)  down  to  the  world's  most  rosiest  rim. 

XXXI 

New  and  new  and  new  and  new,  the  white  o'  the  cliffs 
and  the  wind  in  the  heather, 
Yus,  and  the  sea-gulls  flying  like  flakes  of  the  sea  that 
flashed  to  the  new-born  day, 
Song,  song,  song,  song,  quivering  up  in  the  wild  blue 
weather, 
Thousands  of  seraphim  singing  together,  and  me  just 
flying  and  —  knowing  my  way. 

XXXII 

Straight  as  a  die  to  Piddinghoe's  dolphin,  and  there  I 
drops  in  a  cottage  garden, 
There,  on  a  sun-warmed  window-sill,  I  winks  and 
peeps,  for  the  window  was  wide ! 
Crumbs,   he  was   there   and    fast   in   her   arms   and 
a-begging  his  poor  old  mother's  pardon, 
There  with  his  lips  on  her  old  gray  hair,  and  her  head 
on  his  breast  while  she  laughed  and  cried, — 

[74] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

XXXIII 

"  One  and  nine-pence  that  old  tramp  gave  me,  or  else 
I  should  never  have  reached  you,  sonny, 
Never,  and  you  just  leaving  the  village  to-day  and 
meaning  to  cross  the  sea, 
One  and  nine-pence  he  gave  me,  I  paid  for  the  farmer  s 
lift  with  half  o'  the  money! 
Here's  the  ten-pence  halfpenny,  sonny,  'twill  pay  for 
our  little  'ouse-^w arming  tea." 


xxxiv 

Tick,  tack,  tick,  tack,  out  into  the  garden 

Toddles  that  old  Fairy  with  his  arm  about  her  —  so, 
Cuddling  of  her  still,  and  still  a-begging  of  her  pardon, 
While  she  says  "  I  wish  the  corn-flower  king  could 
only  know ! 
Bless  him,  bless  him,  once  again,"  she  says  and  softly 
gazes  > 

Up  to  heaven,  a-smiling  in  her  mutch  as  white  as 
snow, 
All  among  her  gilly-flowers  and  stocks  and  double 
daisies, 


[75] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Mignonette,  forget-me-not,     .     .     .     Twenty  years 
ago, 

All  a  rosy  glow, 
This  is  how  it  was,  she  said,  Twenty  years  ago. 


XXXV 

Once  again  I  seemed  to  wake,  the  vision  it  had  fled,  sir, 
There  I  lay  upon  the  downs:  the  sky  was  like  a 
peach ; 
Yus,  with  twelve  bokays  of  corn-flowers  blue  beside  my 
bed,  sir, 
More  than  usual  'andsome,  so  they'd  bring  me  two- 
pence each. 
Easy  as  a  poet's  dreams  they  blossomed  round  my  head, 
sir, 
All  I  had  to  do  was  just  to  lift  my  hand  and  reach, 
Tie  'em  with  a  bit  of  string,  and  earn  my  blooming 
bread,  sir, 
Selling  little  nose-gays  on   the  bare-foot  Brighton 
beach, 

Nose-gays  and  a  speech, 
All  about  the  bright  blue  eyes   they  matched   on 
Brighton  beach. 

[76] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

XXXVI 

Overhead  the  singing  lark  and  underfoot  the  heather, 

Far  and  blue  in  front  of  us  the  unplumbed  sky, 
Me  and  stick  and  bundle,  O,  we  jogs  along  together, 

(Changeable  the  weather?     Well,  it  ain't  all  pie!) 

Weather's  like  a  woman,  sir,   and  if  she  wants   to 

quarrel, 

If  her  eyes  begin  to  flash  and  hair  begins  to  fly, 

You've  to  wait  a  little,  then  —  the  story  has  a  moral  — 

Ain't  the  sunny  kisses  all  the  sweeter  by  and  bye  ?  — 

(Crumbs,  it's  'ot  and  dry! 
Thank  you,  sir!    Thank  you,  sir!)  the  sweeter  by 
and  bye. 

XXXVII 

So  the  world's  my  sweetheart  and  I  sort  of  want  to 
squeeze  'er. 
Toffs  'ull  get  no  chance  of  heaven,  take  'em  in  the 
lump! 
Never  laid  in  hay-fields  when  the  dawn  came  over-sea, 
sir? 
Guess  it's  true  that  story  'bout  the  needle  and  the 
hump! 
Never  crept  into  a  stack  because  the  wind  was  blowing, 
Hollered  out  a  nest  and  closed  the  door-way  with  a 
clump, 

[  77  ] 


THE  TRAMP  TRANSFIGURED 

Laid  and  heard  the  whisper  of  the  silence,  growing, 
growing, 
Watched  a  thousand  wheeling  stars  and  wondered  if 
they'd  bump? 

What  I  say  would  stump 
Joshua!     But  I've  done  it,  sir.     Don't  think  I'm  off 
my  chump. 

XXXVIII 

If  you  try  and  lay,  sir,  with  your  face  turned  up  to 
wonder, 
Up  to  twenty  million  miles  of  stars  that  roll  like  one, 
Right   across   to   God   knows   where,    and   you   just 
huddled  under 
Like  a  little  beetle  with  no  business  of  his  own, 
There  you'd  hear  —  like  growing  grass  —  a  funny  silent 
sound,  sir, 
Mixed  with  curious  crackles  in  a  steady  undertone, 
Just  the  sound  of  twenty  billion  stars  a-going  round, 
sir, 
Yus,  and  you  beneath  'em  like  a  wise  old  ant,  alone, 

Ant  upon  a  stone, 
Waving  of  his  antlers,  on  the  Sussex  downs,  alone. 


[  78  ] 


ON  THE  DOWNS 

XT 7 IDE-EYED  our  childhood  roamed  the  world 

™  *        Knee-deep  in  blowing  grass, 
And  watched  the  white  clouds  crisply  curled 

Above  the  mountain-pass, 
And  lay  among  the  purple  thyme 

And  from  its  fragrance  caught 
Strange  hints  from  some  elusive  clime 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  thought. 

Glimpses  of  fair  forgotten  things 

Beyond  the  gates  of  birth, 
Half-caught  from  far  off  ancient  springs 

In  heaven,  and  half  of  earth; 
And  colored  like  a  fairy-tale 

And  whispering  evermore 
Half  memories  from  the  half-fenced  pale 

Of  lives  we  lived  before. 

Here,  weary  of  the  roaring  town 

A-while  may  I  return 
And  while  the  west  wind  roams  the  down 

Lie  still,  lie  still  and  learn: 
Here  are  green  leagues  of  murmuring  wheat 

With  blue  skies  overhead, 
[  79  ] 


ON  THE  DOWNS 

And,  all  around,  the  winds  are  sweet 
With  May-bloom,  white  and  red. 

And,  to  and  fro,  the  bee  still  hums 

His  low  unchanging  song, 
And  the  same  rustling  whisper  comes 

As  through  the  ages  long: 
Through  all  the  thousands  of  the  years 

That  same  sweet  rumor  flows, 
With  dreaming  skies  and  gleaming  tears 

And  kisses  and  the  rose. 

Once  more  the  children  throng  the  lanes, 

Themselves  like  flowers,  to  weave 
Their  garlands  and  their  daisy-chains 

And  listen  and  believe 
The  tale  of  Once-upon-a-time, 

And  hear  the  Long-ago 
And  Happy-ever-after  chime 

Because  it  must  be  so. 

And  by  those  thousands  of  the  years 

It  is,  though  scarce  we  see, 
Dazed  with  the  rainbows  of  our  tears, 

Their  steadfast  unity, 

[  80] 


ON  THE  DOWNS 

It  is,  or  life's  disjointed  schemes, 
These  stones,  these  ferns  unfurled 

With  such  deep  care  —  a  madman's  dreams 
Were  wisdom  to  this  world ! 

Dust  into  dust!     Lie  still  and  learn, 

Hear  how  the  ages  sing 
The  solemn  joy  of  our  return 

To  that  which  makes  the  Spring: 
Even  as  we  came,  with  childhood's  trust, 

Wide-eyed  we  go,  to  Thee 
Who  holdest  in  Thy  sacred  dust 

The  heavenly  Springs  to  be. 


[81  ] 


A  MAY-DAY  CAROL 

T  X  7  HAT  is  the  loveliest  light  that  Spring 

*  "        Rosily  parting  her  robe  of  gray 
Girdled  with  leaflet  green,  can  fling 

Over  the  fields  where  her  white  feet  stray? 
What  is  the  merriest  promise  of  May 

Flung  o'er  the  dew-drenched  April  flowers? 
Tell  me,  you  on  the  pear-tree  spray  — 

Carol  of  birds  between  the  showers. 

What  can  life  at  its  lightest  bring 

Better  than  this  on  its  brightest  day? 
How  should  we  fetter  the  white-throat's  wing 

Wild  with  joy  of  its  woodland  way? 
Sweet,  should  love  for  an  hour  delay, 

Swift,  while  the  primrose-time  is  ours! 
What  is  the  lover's  royallest  lay  ?  — 

Carol  of  birds  between  the  showers. 

What  is  the  murmur  of  bees  a-swing? 

What  is  the  laugh  of  a  child  at  play  ? 
What  is  the  song  that  the  angels  sing? 

(Where  were  the  tune  could  the  sweet  notes  stay 
Longer  than  this,  to  kiss  and  betray?) 

Nay,  on  the  blue  sky's  topmost  towers, 
[  82  ] 


A  MAY-DAY  CAROL 

What  is  the  song  of  the  seraphim?     Say  — 
Carol  of  birds  between  the  showers. 

Thread  the  stars  on  a  silver  string, 

(So  did  they  sing  in  Bethlehem's  bowers!) 

Mirth  for  a  little  one,  grief  for  a  king, 
Carol  of  birds  between  the  showers. 


[83] 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SPRING 

OOME,  choose  your  road  and  away,  my  lad, 

^^     Come,  choose  your  road  and  away ! 

We'll  out  of  the  town  by  the  road's  bright  crown 

As  it  dips  to  the  dazzling  day. 
It's  a  long  white  road  for  the  weary ; 

But  it  rolls  through  the  heart  of  the  May. 

Though  many  a  road  would  merrily  ring 
To  the  tramp  of  your  marching  feet, 

All  roads  are  one  from  the  day  that's  done, 
And  the  miles  are  swift  and  sweet, 

And  the  graves  of  your  friends  are  the  mile-stones 
To  the  land  where  all  roads  meet. 

But  the  call  that  you  hear  this  day,  my  lad, 

Is  the  Spring's  old  bugle  of  mirth 
When  the  year's  green  fire  in  a  soul's  desire 

Is  brought  like  a  rose  to  the  birth; 
And  knights  ride  out  to  adventure 

As  the  flowers  break  out  of  the  earth. 

Over  the  sweet-smelling  mountain-passes 
The  clouds  lie  brightly  curled; 
[  84  ] 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SPRING 

The  wild-flowers  cling  to  the  crags  and  swing 

With  cataract-dews  impearled; 
And  the  way,  the  way  that  you  choose  this  day 

Is  the  way  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

It  rolls  from  the  golden  long  ago 
To  the  land  that  we  ne'er  shall  find ; 

And  it's  uphill  here,  but  it's  downhill  there, 
For  the  road  is  wise  and  kind, 

And  all  rough  places  and  cheerless  faces 
Will  soon  be  left  behind. 

Come,  choose  your  road  and  away,  away, 

We'll  follow  the  gypsy  sun ; 
For  it's  soon,  too  soon  to  the  end  of  the  day, 

And  the  day  is  well  begun; 
And  the  road  rolls  on  through  the  heart  of  the  May, 

And  there's  never  a  May  but  one. 

There's  a  fir-wood  here,  and  a  dog-rose  there, 

And  a  note  of  the  mating  dove ; 
And  a  glimpse,  maybe,  of  the  warm  blue  sea, 

And  the  warm  white  clouds  above ; 
And  warm  to  your  breast  in  a  tenderer  nest 

Your  sweetheart's  little  glove. 

[  85  ] 


'     THE  CALL  OF  THE  SPRING 

There's  not  much  better  to  win,  my  lad, 

There's  not  much  better  to  win! 
You  have  lived,  you  have  loved,  you  have  fought, 

you  have  proved 
The  worth  of  folly  and  sin ; 

So  now  come  out  of  the  City's  rout, 
Come  out  of  the  dust  and  the  din. 

Come  out, —  a  bundle  and  stick  is  all 

You'll  need  to  carry  along, 
If  your  heart  can  carry  a  kindly  word, 

And  your  lips  can  carry  a  song; 
You  may  leave  the  lave  to  the  keep  o'  the  grave, 

If  your  lips  can  carry  a  song! 

Come,  choose  your  road  and  away,  my  lad. 

Come,  choose  your  road  and  away! 
We'll  out  of  the  town  by  the  road's  bright  crown, 

As  it  dips  to  the  sapphire  day  I 
'All  roads  may  meet  at  the  world's  end, 
'  But,  hey  for  the  heart  of  the  May! 
Come,  choose  your  road  and  away,  dear  lad. 

Come  choose  your  road  and  away. 


[86] 


A  DEVONSHIRE  DITTY 


TN  a  leafy  lane  of  Devon 

■*■     There's  a  cottage  that  I  know, 

Then  a  garden  —  then,  a  gray  old  crumbling 
wall, 
And  the  wall's  the  wall  of  heaven 
(Where  I  hardly  care  to  go) 
And  there  isn't  any  fiery  sword  at  all. 

II 

But  I  never  went  to  heaven. 

There  was  right  good  reason  why, 

For  they  sent  a  shining  angel  to  me  there, 
An  angel,  down  in  Devon, 
(Clad  in  muslin  by  the  bye) 
With  the  halo  of  the  sunshine  on  her  hair. 

ni 

Ah,  whate'er  the  darkness  covers, 
And  whate'er  we  sing  or  say, 

Would  you  climb  the  wall  of  heaven  an  hour 
too  soon 

[87  ] 


A  DEVONSHIRE  DITTY 

If  you  knew  a  place  for  lovers 
Where  the  apple-blossoms  stray 

Out  of  heaven   to  sway  and  whisper  to  the 
moon? 

IV 

When  we  die  —  we'll  think  of  Devon 

Where  the  garden's  all  aglow 

With  the  flowers  that  stray  across  the  gray  old 
wall: 
Then  we'll  climb  it,  out  of  heaven, 

From  the  other  side  you  know, 
Straggle  over  it  from  heaven 

With  the  apple-blossom  snow, 
Tumble  back  again  to  Devon 

Laugh  and  love  as  long  ago, 
Where  there  isn't  any  fiery  sword  at  all. 


[88] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

TTALF  a  hundred  terrible  pig-tails,  pirates  famous 

•*-■*■     in  song  and  story, 

Hoisting  the  old  black  flag  once  more,  in  a  palmy 
harbor  of  Caribbee, 

"  Farewell  "  we  waved  to  our  negro  lasses,  and  chorus- 
sing  out  to  the  billows  of  glory, 

Billows  a-glitter  with  rum  and  gold,  we  followed  the 
sunset  over  the  sea. 

While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round, 

Our  capstan  song  we  sung: 
'Half  a  hundred  broad-sheet  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

Sea-roads  plated  with  pieces  of  eight  that  rolled  to  a 
heaven  by  rum  made  mellow, 
Heaved  and  colored  our  barque's  black  nose  where 
the  Lascar  sang  to  a  twinkling  star, 
And  the  tangled  bow-sprit  plunged  and  dipped  its  point 
in  the  West's  wild  red  and  yellow, 
Till  the  curved  white  moon  crept  out  astern  like  a 
naked  knife  from  a  blue  cymar. 

[  89  ] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round, 

Our  capstan  song  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  terrible  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

Half  a  hundred  tarry  pig-tails,  Teach,  the  chewer  of 
glass,  had  taught  us, 
Taught  us  to  balance  the  plank  ye  walk,  your  little 
plank-bridge  to  Kingdom  Come : 
Half  a  score  had  sailed  with  Flint,  and  a  dozen  or  so 
the  devil  had  brought  us 
Back  from  the  pit  where  Blackbeard  lay,  in  Beelze- 
bub's bosom,  a-screech  for  rum. 

'While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round, 

Our  capstan  song  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  piping  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

There  was  Captain  Hook  (of  whom  ye  have  heard  — 
so  called  from  his  terrible  cold  steel  twister, 
His  own  right  hand  having  gone  to  a  shark  with  a 
taste  for  skippers  on  pirate-trips), 
There  was  Silver  himself,  with  his  cruel  crutch,  and 
the  blind  man  Pew,  with  a  phiz  like  a  blister, 
Gouged  and  white  and  dreadfully  dried  in  the  reek 
of  a  thousand  burning  ships. 
[90] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round, 

Our  capstan  song  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  cut-throat  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

With  our  silver  buckles  and  French  cocked  hats  and 
our  skirted  coats  (they  were  growing  greener, 
But  green  and  gold  look  well  when  spliced !     We'd 
trimmed  'em  up  wi'  some  fine  fresh  lace) 
Bravely  over  the  seas  we  danced  to  the  horn-pipe  tune 
of  a  concertina, 
Cutlasses   jetting   beneath    our   skirts   and   cambric 
handkerchiefs  all  in  place. 

While  earth  goes  round  let  rum  go  round, 

Our  capstan  song  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  elegant  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

And  our  black  prow  grated,  one  golden  noon,  on  the 
happiest  isle  of  the  Happy  Islands, 
An  isle  of  Paradise,  fair  as  a  gem,  on  the  sparkling 
breast  of  the  wine-dark  deep, 
An  isle  of  blossom  and  yellow  sand,   and  enchanted 
vines  on  the  purple  highlands, 
Wi'  grapes  like  melons,  nay  clustering  suns,  a-sprawl 
over  cliffs  in  their  noonday  sleep. 

[91  1 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round, 

Our  capstan  song  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  dream-struck  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

And  lo!  on  the  soft  warm  edge  of  the  sand,  where  the 
sea  like  wine  in  a  golden  noggin 
Creamed,    and    the    rainbow-bubbles    clung    to    his 
flame-red  hair,  a  white  youth  lay, 
Sleeping;  and  now,  as  his  drowsy  grip  relaxed,  the  cup 
that  he  squeezed  his  grog  in 
Slipped  from  his  hand  and  its  purple  dregs  were 
mixed  with  the  flames  and  flakes  of  spray. 

He'd  only  a  leopard-skin  around 

His  chest,  whereas  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  diffident  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young/ 

And  we  suddenly  saw    (had  we  seen  them  before? 
They  were  colored  like  sand  or  the  pelt  on  his 
shoulders) 
His  head  was  pillowed  on  two  great  leopards,  whose 
breathing  rose  and  sank  with  his  own ; 
Now  a  pirate  is  bold,  but  the  vision  was  rum  and 
would  call  for  rum  in  the  best  of  beholders, 
[92] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

And  it  seemed  we  had  seen  Him  before,  in  a  dream, 
with  that  flame-red  hair  and  that  vine-leaf 
crown. 

And  the  earth  went  round,  and  the  rum  went  round, 

And  sof titer  now  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  awe-struck  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

Now  Timothy  Hook  (of  whom  ye  have  heard  with  his 
talon  of  steel)  our  doughty  skipper, 
A  man  that,  in  youth  being  brought  up  pious,  had 
many  a  book  on  his  cabin-shelf, 
Suddenly  caught  at  a  comrade's  hand  with  the  tearing 
claws  of  his  cold  steel  flipper 
And  cried,  "  Great  Thunder  and  Brimstone,  boys, 
I've  hit  it  at  last!     JTis  Bacchus  himself." 

And   the   earth   went   round,   and   the   rum   went 
round, 

And  never  a  word  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  tottering  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

He  flung  his  French  cocked  hat  i'  the  foam  (though 
its  lace  was  the  best  of  his  wearing  apparel) : 
[93  ] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

We  stared  at  him  —  Bacchus !  the  sea  reeled  round 
like  a  wine-vat  splashing  with  purple  dreams, 
And  the  sunset-skies  were  dashed  with  blood  of  the 
grape  as  the  sun  like  a  new-staved  barrel 

Flooded  the  tumbling  West  with  wine  and  spattered 
the  clouds  with  crimson  gleams. 

And  the  earth  went  round,  and  our  heads  went 
round, 

And  never  a  word  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  staggering  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 


Down  to  the  ship  for  a  fishing-net  our  crafty  Hook 
sent  Silver  leaping; 
Back  he  came  on  his  pounding  crutch,  for  all  the 
world  like  a  kangaroo; 
And  we  caught  the  net  and  up  to  the  Sleeper  on  hands 
and  knees  we  all  went  creeping, 
Flung  it  across  him  and  staked  it  down !     'Twas  the 
best  of  our  dreams  and  the  dream  was  true. 

And  the  earth  went  round,  and  the  rum  went  round, 

And  loudly  now  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  jubilant  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

[94] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

We  had  caught  our  god,  and  we  got  him  aboard  ere  he 
woke  (he  was  more  than  a  little  heavy)  ; 
Glittering,  beautiful,  flushed  he  lay  in  the  lurching 
bows  of  the  old  black  barque, 
As  the  sunset  died  and  the  white  moon  dawned,  and 
we  saw  on  the  island  a  star-bright  bevy 
Of  naked  Bacchanals  stealing  to  watch  through  the 
whispering  vines  in  the  purple  dark! 

While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round, 

Our  capstan  song  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  innocent  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

Beautiful  under  the  sailing  moon,  in  the  tangled  net, 
with  the  leopards  beside  him, 
Snared  like  a  wild  young  red-lipped  merman,  wilful, 
petulant,  flushed  he  lay; 
While  Silver  and  Hook  in  their  big  sea-boots  and  their 
boat-cloaks  guarded  and  gleefully  eyed  him, 
Thinking  what  Bacchus  might  do  for  a  seaman,  like 
standing  him  drinks,  as  a  man  might  say. 

While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round, 

We  sailed  away  and  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  fanciful  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

[95  ] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

All  the  grog  that  ever  was  heard  of,  gods,  was  it  stowed 
in  our  sure  possession? 
O,  the  pictures  that  broached  the  skies  and  poured 
their  colors  across  our  dreams! 
O,  the  thoughts  that  tapped  the  sunset,  and  rolled  like 
a  great  torchlight  procession 
Down  our  throats  in  a  glory  of  glories,  a  roaring 
splendor  of  golden  streams! 

And  the  earth  went  round,  and  the  stars  went  round. 

As  we  hauled  the  sheets  and  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  infinite  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

Beautiful,  white,  at  the  break  of  day,  He  woke  and, 
the  net  in  a  smoke  dissolving, 
He  rose  like  a  flame,  with  his  yellow-eyed  pards  and 
his  flame-red  hair  like  a  windy  dawn, 
And  the  crew  kept  back,  respectful  like,  till  the  leopards 
advanced  with  their  eyes  revolving, 
Then  up  the  rigging  went  Silver  and  Hook,  and  the 
rest  of  us  followed  with  case-knives  drawn. 

While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round, 
Our  cross-tree  song  we  sung: 

Half  a  hundred  terrified  pirates 
When  the  world  was  young! 
[96] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

And  "  Take  me  home  to  my  happy  island ! "  he  says. 
"  Not  I,"  sings  Hook,  "  by  thunder; 
We'll  take  you  home  to  a  happier  isle,  our  palmy 
harbor  of  Caribbee !  " 
"  You  won't?  "  says  Bacchus,  and  quick  as  a  dream  the 
planks  of  the  deck  just  heaved  asunder, 
And  a  mighty  Vine  came  straggling  up  that  grew 
from  the  depths  of  the  wine-dark  sea. 

And  the  sea  went  round,  and  the  skies  went  round, 

As  our  cross-tree  song  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  horrified  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young/ 

We  were  anchored  fast  as  an  oak  on  land,  and  the 
branches  clutched  and  the  tendrils  quickened, 
And  bound  us  writhing  like  snakes  to  the  spars !     Ay, 
we  hacked  with  our  knives  at  the  boughs  in  vain, 
And  Bacchus  laughed  loud  on  the  decks  below,  as  ever 
the  tough  sprays  tightened  and  thickened, 
And  the  blazing  hours  went  by,  and  we  gaped  with 
thirst  and  our  ribs  were  racked  with  pain. 

And  the  skies  went  round,  and  the  sea  swam  round, 

And  we  knew  not  what  we  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  lunatic  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 
[  97  ] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

Bunch  upon  bunch  of  sunlike  grapes,  as  we  writhed  and 
struggled  and  raved  and  strangled, 
Bunch  upon  bunch  of  gold  and  purple  daubed  its 
bloom  on  our  baked  black  lips. 
Clustering  grapes,  O,  bigger  than  pumpkins,  just  out 
of  reach  they  bobbed  and  dangled 
Over  the  vine-entangled  sails  of  that  most  dumb- 
founded of  pirate  ships ! 

'And  the  sun  went  round,  and  the  moon  came  round, 

And  mocked  us  where  we  hung: 
Half  a  hundred  maniac  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 

Over  the  waters  the  white  moon  winked  its  bruised  old 
eye  at  our  bowery  prison, 
When  suddenly  we  were  aware  of  a  light  such  as 
never  a  moon  or  a  ship's  lamp  throws, 
And  a  shallop  of  pearl,  like  a  Nautilus  shell,  came 
shimmering  up  as  by  magic  arisen, 
With  sails  of  silk  and  a  glory  around  it  that  turned 
the  sea  to  a  rippling  rose. 

And  our  heads  went  round,  and  the  stars  went  round, 

At  the  song  that  cruiser  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  goggled-eyed  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young! 
[  98  ] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

Half  a  hundred  rose-white  Bacchanals  hauled  the  ropes 
of  that  rosy  cruiser ! 
Over  the  seas  they  came  and  laid  their  little  white 
hands  on  the  old  black  barque; 
And  Bacchus  he  ups  and  he  steps  aboard :    "  Hi,  stop !  " 
cries  Hook,  "you  frantic  old  boozer! 
Belay,  below  there,  don't  you  go  and  leave  poor 
pirates  to  die  in  the  dark !  " 

And  the  moon  went  round,  and  the  stars  went  round. 

As  they  all  pushed  off  and  sung: 
Half  a  hundred  ribbonless  Bacchanals 

When  the  world  was  young! 

Over  the  seas  they  went  and  Bacchus  he  stands,  with 
his  yellow-eyed  leopards  beside  him, 
High  on  the  poop  of  rose  and  pearl,  and  kisses  his 
hand  to  us,  pleasant  as  pie! 
While  the  Bacchanals  danced  to  their  tambourines,  and 
the  vine-leaves  flew,  and  Hook  just  eyed  him 
Once,  as  a  man  that  was  brought  up  pious,  and 
scornfully  hollers,  "  Well,  you  ain't  shy!  " 

For  all  around  him,  vine-leaf  crowned, 
The  wild  white  Bacchanals  flung! 

Nor  it  wasn't  a  sight  for  respectable  pirates 
When  the  world  was  young! 

[  99  ] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

All  around  that  rainbow-Nautilus  rippled  the  bloom  of 

a  thousand  roses, 

Nay,  but  the  sparkle  of  fairy  sea-nymphs  breasting  a 

fairy-like  sea  of  wine, 

Swimming  around  it  in  murmuring  thousands,  with 

white  arms  tossing;  till  —  all  that  we  knows  is 

The  light  went  out,  and  the  night  was  dark,  and  the 

grapes  had  burst  and  their  juice  was  —  brine! 

And  the  vines  that  bound  our  bodies  round 
Were  plain  wet  ropes  that  clung: 

Squeezing  the  light  out  o*  fifty  pirates 
When  the  world  was  young! 


Over  the  seas  in  the  pomp  of  dawn  a  king's  ship  came 
with  her  proud  flag  flying; 
Cloud  upon  cloud  we  watched  her  tower  with  her 
belts  and  her  crowded  zones  of  sail; 
And  an  A.B.  perched  in  a  white  crow's  nest,  with  a 
brass-rimmed  spy-glass  quietly  spying, 
As  we  swallowed  the  lumps  in  our  choking  throats 
and  uttered  our  last  faint  feeble  hail ! 

And  our  heads  went  round  as  the  ship  went  round, 
And  we  thought  how  coves  had  swung: 
[  ioo  ] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

All  for  playing  at  broad-sheet  pirates 
When  the  world  was  youngl 

Half  a  hundred  trembling  corsairs,  all  cut  loose,  but  a 
trifle  giddy, 
We  lands  on  their  trim  white  decks  at  last  and  the 
bo'sun  he  whistles  us  good  hot  grog, 
And  we  tries  to  confess,  but  there  wasn't  a  soul  from 
the  Admiral's  self  to  the  gold-laced  middy 
But  says,  "  They're  delirious  still,  poor  chaps,"  and 
the  Cap'n  he  enters  the  fact  in  his  log, 

That  his  boat's  crew  found  us  nearly  drowned 

In  a  barrel  without  a  bung  — 
Half  a  hundred  suffering  sea-cooks 

When  the  world  was  young! 

So  we  sailed  by  Execution  Dock,  where  the  swinging 
pirates  haughty  and  scornful 
Rattled  their  chains,  and  on  Margate  beach  we  came 
like  a  school-treat  safe  to  land ; 
And  one  of  us  took  to  religion  at  once ;  and  the  rest  of 
the  crew,  tho'  their  hearts  were  mournful, 
Capered  about  as  Christy  Minstrels,  while  Hook 
conducted  the  big  brass  band. 

[  ioi  ] 


BACCHUS  AND  THE  PIRATES 

And  the  sun  went  round,  and  the  moon  went  round, 

And,  O,  'twas  a  thought  that  stung! 
There  was  none  to  believe  we  were  broad-sheet  pirates 

When  the  world  was  young/ 

Ah,  yet  (if  ye  stand  me  a  noggin  of  rum)  shall  the  old 
Blue  Dolphin  echo  the  story ! 
We'll  hoist  the  white  cross-bones  again  in  our  palmy 
harbor  of  Caribbee! 
We'll  wave  farewell  to  our  negro  lasses  and,  chorussing 
out  to  the  billows  of  glory, 
Billows  a-glitter  with  rum  and  gold,  we'll  follow  the 
sunset  over  the  sea! 

While  earth  goes  round,  let  rum  go  round! 

O,  sing  it  as  we  sung! 
Half  a  hundred  terrible  pirates 
When  the  world  was  young! 


[  102  ] 


THE  NEWSPAPER  BOY 


TT*  LF  of  the  City,  a  lean  little  hollow-eyed  boy, 
-*--'     Ragged  and  tattered,  but  lithe  as  a  slip  of  the 

Spring, 
Under  the  lamp-light  he  runs  with  a  reckless  joy, 

Shouting  a  murderer's  doom  or  the  death  of  a  King. 
Out  of  the  darkness  he  leaps  like  a  wild  strange  hint, 

Herald  of  tragedy,  comedy,  crime  and  despair, 
Waving  a  poster  that  hurls  you,  in  fierce  black  print, 

One  word  Mystery,  under  the  lamp's  white  glare. 

n 

Elf  of  the  night  of  the  City,  he  darts  with  his  crew 
Out  of  a  vaporous  furnace  of  color  that  wreathes 
Magical  letters  a-flicker  from  crimson  to  blue 

High   overhead.     All   round    him   the   mad   world 
seethes. 
Hansoms,  like  cantering  beetles,  with  diamond-eyes 
Run  through  the  moons  of  it;  busses  in  yellow  and 
red 
Hoot ;  and  St.  Paul's  is  a  bubble  afloat  in  the  skies, 
Watching  the  pale  moths  flit  and  the  dark  death's 
head. 

[  103  ] 


THE  NEWSPAPER  BOY 

ra 

Painted  and  powdered  they  shimmer  and  rustle  and 
stream 

Westward,  the  night  moths,  masks  of  the  Magdalen ! 
See, 
Puck  of  the  revels,  he  leaps  through  the  sinister  dream, 

Waving  his  elfin  evangel  of  Mystery, 
Puck  of  the  bubble  or  dome  of  their  scoffing  or  trust, 

Puck  of  the  fairy-like  tower  with  the  clock  in  its  face, 
Puck  of  an  Empire  that  whirls  on  a  pellet  of  dust 

Bearing  his  elfin  device  thro'  the  splendors  of  space. 

IV 

Mystery  — is  it  the  scribble  of  doom  on  the  dark, 

Mene,  Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin,  again? 
Mystery, —  is  it  a  scrap  of  remembrance,  a  spark 

Burning  still  in  the  fog  of  a  blind  world's  brain? 
Elf  of  the  gossamer  tangles  of  shadow  and  light, 

Wild  electrical  webs  and  the  battle  that  rolls 
League  upon  perishing  league  thro'  the  ravenous  night, 

Breaker  on  perishing  breaker  of  human  souls. 

V 

Soaked  in  the  colors,  a  flake  of  the  flying  spray 

Flung  over  wreckage  and  yeast  of  the  murderous 
town, 

[   104  ] 


THE  NEWSPAPER  BOY 

Onward  he  flaunts  it,  innocent,  vicious  and  gay, 

Prophet  of  prayers  that  are  stifled  and  loves  that 
drown, 
Urchin  and  sprat  of  the  City  that  roars  like  a  sea 
Surging  around  him  in  hunger  and  splendor  and 
shame, 
Cruelty,  luxury,  madness,  he  leaps  in  his  glee 
Out  of  the  mazes  of  mist  and  the  vistas  of  flame. 

VI 

Ragged  and  tattered  he  scurries  away  in  the  gloom: 

Over  the  thundering  traffic  a  moment  his  cry 
Mystery  I  Mystery! —  reckless  of  death  and  doom 

Rings;  and  the  great  wheels  roll  and  the  world 
goes  by. 
Lost,  is  it  lost,  that  hollow-eyed  flash  of  the  light  ?  — 

Poor  little  face  flying  by  with  the  word  that  saves, 
Pale  little  mouth  of  the  mask  of  the  measureless  night, 

Shrilling  the  heart  of  it,  lost  like  the  foam  on  its 
waves ! 


[  105  ] 


THE  TWO  WORLDS 

THIS  outer  world  is  but  the  pictured  scroll 
Of  worlds  within  the  soul, 
A  colored  chart,  a  blazoned  missal-book 

Whereon  who  rightly  look 
May  spell  the  splendors  with  their  mortal  eyes 
And  steer  to  Paradise. 

O,  well  for  him  that  knows  and  early  knows 

In  his  own  soul  the  rose 
Secretly  burgeons,  of  this  earthly  flower 

The  heavenly  paramour: 
And  all  these  fairy  dreams  of  green-wood  fern, 

These  waves  that  break  and  yearn, 
Shadows  and  hieroglyphs,  hills,  clouds  and  seas, 

Faces  and  flowers  and  trees, 
Terrestrial  picture-parables,  relate 

Each  to  its  heavenly  mate. 

O,  well  for  him  that  finds  in  sky  and  sea 

This  two-fold  mystery, 
And  loses  not  (as  painfully  he  spells 

The  fine-spun  syllables) 
The  cadences,  the  burning  inner  gleam, 

The  poet's  heavenly  dream. 
[  106  ] 


THE  TWO  WORLDS 

Well  for  the  poet  if  this  earthly  chart 

Be  printed  in  his  heart, 
When  to  his  world  of  spirit  woods  and  seas 

With  eager  face  he  flees 
And  treads  the  untrodden  fields  of  unknown  flowers 

And  threads  the  angelic  bowers, 
And  hears  that  unheard  nightingale  whose  moan 

Trembles  within  his  own, 
And  lovers  murmuring  in  the  leafy  lanes 

Of  his  own  joys  and  pains. 

For  though  he  voyages  further  than  the  flight 

Of  earthly  day  and  night, 
Traversing  to  the  sky's  remotest  ends 

A  world  that  he  transcends, 
Safe,  he  shall  hear  the  hidden  breakers  roar 

Against  the  mystic  shore; 
Shall  roam  the  yellow  sands  where  sirens  bare 

Their  breasts  and  wind  their  hair ; 
Shall  with  their  perfumed  tresses  blind  his  eyes, 

And  still  possess  the  skies. 

He,  where  the  deep  unearthly  jungles  are, 

Beneath  his  Eastern  star 
Shall  pass  the  tawny  lion  in  his  den 

And  cross  the  quaking  fen. 
[  107  ] 


THE  TWO  WORLDS 

He  learnt  his  path  (and  treads  it  undefiled) 

When,  as  a  little  child, 
He  bent  his  head  with  long  and  loving  looks 

O'er  earthly  picture-books. 
His  earthly  love  nestles  against  his  side, 

His  young  celestial  guide. 


[  108] 


GORSE 

"D  ETWEEN  my  face  and  the  warm  blue  sky 
*"^    The  crisp  white  clouds  go  sailing  by, 

And  the  only  sound  is  the  sound  of  your  breathing, 
The  song  of  a  bird  and  the  sea's  long  sigh. 

Here,  on  the  downs,  as  a  tale  re-told 

The  sprays  of  the  gorse  are  a-blaze  with  gold, 

As  of  old,  on  the  sea-washed  hills  of  my  boyhood, 
Breathing  the  same  sweet  scent  as  of  old. 

Under  a  ragged  golden  spray 
The  great  sea  sparkles  far  away, 

Beautiful,  bright,  as  my  heart  remembers 
Many  a  dazzle  of  waves  in  May. 

Long  ago  as  I  watched  them  shine 
Under  the  boughs  of  fir  and  pine, 

Here  I  watch  them  to-day  and  wonder, 
Here,  with  my  love's  hand  warm  in  mine. 

The  soft  wings  pass  that  we  used  to  chase, 
Dreams  that  I  dreamed  had  left  not  a  trace, 

The  same,  the  same,  with  the  bars  of  crimson, 
The  green-veined  white,  with  its  floating  grace, 
[  109  ] 


GORSE 

The  same  to  the  least  bright  fleck  on  their  wings! 
And  I  close  my  eyes,  and  a  lost  bird  sings, 

And  a  far  sea  sighs,  and  the  old  sweet  fragrance 
Wraps  me  round  with  the  dear  dead  springs, 

Wraps  me  round  with  the  springs  to  be 
When  lovers  that  think  not  of  you  or  me 

Laugh,  but  our  eyes  will  be  closed  in  darkness, 
Closed  to  the  sky  and  the  gorse  and  the  sea. 

And  the  same  great  glory  of  ragged  gold 
Once  more,  once  more,  as  a  tale  re-told, 

Shall   whisper   their   hearts   with   the   same  sweet 
fragrance 
And  their  warm  hands  cling,  as  of  old,  as  of  old. 

Dead  and  un-born,  the  same  blue  skies 
Cover  us!     Love,  as  I  read  your  eyes, 

Do  I  not  know  whose  love  enfolds  us, 
As  we  fold  the  past  in  our  memories, 

Past,  present,  future,  the  old  and  the  new? 

From  the  depths  of  the  grave  a  cry  breaks  through 

And  trembles,  a  skylark  blind  in  the  azure, 
The  depths  of  the  all-enfolding  blue. 

[  no] 


GORSE 

O,  resurrection  of  folded  years 

Deep  in  our  hearts,  with  your  smiles  and  tears, 

Dead  and  un-born  shall  not  He  remember 
Who  folds  our  cry  in  His  heart,  and  hears. 


[  in  ] 


FOR    THE    EIGHTIETH    BIRTH- 
DAY OF  GEORGE  MEREDITH 

A      HEALTH,  a  ringing  health,  unto  the  king 
•*  ^       Of  all  our  hearts  to-day !    But  what  proud  song 
Should  follow  on  the  thought,  nor  do  him  wrong? 
Except  the  sea  were  harp,  each  mirthful  string 
The  lovely  lightning  of  the  nights  of  Spring, 
And  Dawn  the  lonely  listener,  glad  and  grave 
With  colors  of  the  sea-shell  and  the  wave 
In  brightening  eye  and  cheek,  there  is  none  to  sing! 

Drink  to  him,  as  men  upon  an  Alpine  peak 
Brim  one  immortal  cup  of  crimson  wine, 

And  into  it  drop  one  pure  cold  crust  of  snow, 
Then  hold  it  up,  too  rapturously  to  speak 
And  drink  —  to  the  mountains,  line  on  glittering  line, 
Surging  away  into  the  sunset-glow. 


[    112] 


IN  MEMORY  OF  SWINBURNE 


A  PRIL  from  shore  to  shore,  from  sea  to  sea, 
^  ^     April  in  heaven  and  on  the  springing  spray 

Buoyant  with  birds  that  sing  to  welcome  May 
And  April  in  those  eyes  that  mourn  for  thee: 
"  This  is  my  singing  month ;  my  hawthorn  tree 

Burgeons  once  more,"  we  seemed  to  hear  thee  say, 
"  This  is  my  singing  month :  my  fingers  stray 
Over  the  lute.    What  shall  the  music  be  ?  " 

And  April  answered  with  too  great  a  song 
For  mortal  lips  to  sing  or  hearts  to  hear, 
Heard  only  of  that  high  invisible  throng 

For  whom  thy  song  makes  April  all  the  year! 
"My   singing   month,    what   bringest    thou?"     Her 

breath 
Swooned    with     all    music^    and    she    answered  — 
"  Death." 


Ah,  but  on  earth, — "  can'st  thou,  too,  die," 
Low  she  whispers,  "  lover  of  mine?  " 

[  US  ] 


IN  MEMORY  OF  SWINBURNE 

April,  queen  over  earth  and  sky 

Whispers,  her  trembling  lashes  shine: 

"  Wings  of  the  sea,  good-bye,  good-bye, 
Down  to  the  dim  sea-line."        , 

Home  to  the  heart  of  thine  old-world  lover, 
Home  to  thy  "  fair  green-girdled  "  sea! 

There  shall  thy  soul  with  the  sea-birds  hover, 
Free  of  the  deep  as  their  wings  are  free; 

Free,  for  the  grave-flowers  only  cover 
This,  the  dark  cage  of  thee. 

Thee,  the  storm-bird,  nightingale-souled, 
Brother  of  Sappho,  the  seas  reclaim ! 

Age  upon  age  have  the  great  waves  rolled 
Mad  with  her  music,  exultant,  aflame ; 

Thee,  thee  too,  shall  their  glory  enfold, 
Lit  with  thy  snow-winged  fame. 

Back,  thro'  the  years,  fleets  the  sea-bird's  wing: 
Sappho,  of  old  time,  once, —  ah,  hark! 

So  did  he  love  her  of  old  and  sing! 

Listen,  he  flies  to  her,  back  thro'  the  dark! 

Sappho,  of  old  time,  once.     .     .     .     Yea,  Spring 
Cajls  him  home  to  her,  hark ! 

[   114] 


IN  MEMORY  OF  SWINBURNE 

Sappho,  long  since,  in  the  years  far  sped, 
Sappho,  I  loved  thee!     Did  I  not  seem 

Fosterling  only  of  earth?     I  have  fled, 
Fled  to  thee,  sister.     Time  is  a  dream ! 

Shelley  is  here  with  us !     Death  lies  dead ! 
Ah,  how  the  bright  waves  gleam. 

Wide  was  the  cage-door,  idly  swinging; 

April  touched  me  and  whispered,  "  come." 
Out  and  away  to  the  great  deep  winging, 

Sister,  I  flashed  to  thee  over  the  foam, 
Out  to  the  sea  of  Eternity,  singing 

"  Mother,  thy  child  comes  home." 

•  •••*•• 

Ah,  but  how  shall  we  welcome  May, 

Here  where  the  wing  of  song  droops  low, 

Here  by  the  last  green  swinging  spray 
Brushed  by  the  sea-bird's  wings  of  snow, 

We  that  gazed  on  his  glorious  way 
Out  where  the  great  winds  blow  ? 

Here  upon  earth  — "  canst  thou,  too,  die, 
Lover  of  life  and  lover  of  mine?  " 
April,  conquering  earth  and  sky, 
Whispers,  her  trembling  lashes  shine: 
"  Wings  of  the  sea,  good-bye,  good-bye, 
Down  to  the  dim  sea-line." 
[   US   ] 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  FRANCIS 
THOMPSON 


HOW  grandly  glow  the  bays 
Purpureally  enwound 
With  those  rich  thorns,  the  brows 

How  infinitely  crowned 
That  now  thro'  Death's  dark  house 

Have  passed  with  royal  gaze: 
Purpureally  enwound 

How  grandly  glow  the  bays. 

II 

Sweet,  sweet  and  three-fold  sweet, 

Pulsing  with  three-fold  pain, 
Where  the  lark  fails  of  flight 

Soared  the  celestial  strain ; 
Beyond  the  sapphire  height 

Flew  the  gold-winged  feet, 
Beautiful,  pierced  with  pain, 

Sweet,  sweet  and  three-fold  sweet; 


[  116] 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  FRANCIS  THOMPSON 

m 

And  where  Is  not  and  Is 

Are  wed  in  one  sweet  Name, 
And  the  world's  rootless  vine 

With  dew  of  stars  a-flame 
Laughs,  from  those  deep  divine 

Impossibilities, 
Our  reason  all  to  shame  — 

This  cannot  be,  but  is; 

IV 

Into  the  Vast,  the  Deep 

Beyond  all  mortal  sight, 
The  Nothingness  that  conceived 

The  worlds  of  day  and  night, 
The  Nothingness  that  heaved 

Pure  sides  in  virgin  sleep, 
Brought  out  of  Darkness,  light; 

And  man  from  out  the  Deep. 


Into  that  Mystery 

Let  not  thine  hand  be  thrust : 
Nothingness  is  a  world 

Thy  science  well  may  trust 
[  ii7  ] 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  FRANCIS  THOMPSON 

But  lo,  a  leaf  unfurled, 

Nay,  a  cry  mocking  thee 
From  the  first  grain  of  dust  — 

/  am,  yet  cannot  be! 

VI 

Adventuring  un-afraid 

Into  that  last  deep  shrine, 
Must  not  the  child-heart  see 

Its  deepest  symbol  shine, 
The  world's  Birth-mystery, 

Whereto  the  suns  are  shade  ? 
Lo,  the  white  breast  divine  — 

The  Holy  Mother-maid ! 

VII 

How  miss  that  Sacrifice 

That  cross  of  Yea  and  Nay 
That  paradox  of  heaven 

Whose  palms  point  either  way, 
Through  each  a  nail  being  driven 

That  the  arms  out-span  the  skies 
And  our  earth-dust  this  day 

Out-sweeten  Paradise. 

[  118] 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  FRANCIS  THOMPSON 


vin 


We  part  the  seamless  robe, 

Our  wisdom  would  divide 
The  raiment  of  the  King, 

Our  spear  is  in  His  side, 
Even  while  the  angels  sing 

Around  our  perishing  globe, 
Lo,  Death  re-knits  in  pride 

The  seamless  purple  robe. 


IX 

How  grandly  glow  the  bays 

Purpureally  enwound 
With  those  rich  thorns,  the  brows 

How  infinitely  crowned 
That  now  thro*  Death's  dark  house 

Have  passed  with  royal  gaze: 
Purpureally  enwound 

How  grandly  glow  the  bays. 


[   119] 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MEREDITH 


T  T IGH  on  the  mountains,  who  stands  proudly,  clad 

*  *    with  the  light  of  May, 

Rich  as  the  dawn,  deep-hearted  as  night,  diamond- 
bright  as  day, 

Who,  while  the  slopes  of  the  beautiful  valley  throb 
with  our  muffled  tread 

Who,  with  the  hill-flowers  wound  in  her  tresses,  wel- 
comes our  deathless  dead  ? 

n 

Is  it  not  she  whom  he  sought  so  long  thro'  the  high 
lawns  dewy  and  sweet, 

Up  thro'  the  crags  and  the  glittering  snows  faint- 
flushed  with  her  rosy  feet, 

Is  it  not  she  —  the  queen  of  our  night  —  crowned  by 
the  unseen  sun, 

Artemis,  she  that  can  see  the  light,  when  light  upon 
earth  is  none? 

in 

Huntress,  queen  of  the  dark  of  the  world  (no  darker  at 
night  than  noon) 

[  120  ] 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MEREDITH 

Beauty  immortal  and  undefiled,  the  Eternal  sun's  white 

moon, 
Only  by  thee  and  thy  silver  shafts  for  a  flash  can  our 

hearts  discern, 
Pierced  to  the  quick,  the  love,  the  love  that  still  thro' 

the  dark  doth  yearn. 

rv 

What  to  his  soul  were  the  hill-flowers,  what  the  gold  at 

the  break  of  day 
Shot  thro'  the  red-stemmed  firs  to  the  lake  where  the 

swimmer  clove  his  way, 
What  were  the  quivering  harmonies  showered  from  the 

heaven-tossed  heart  of  the  lark, 
Artemis,  Huntress,  what  were  these  but  thy  keen  shafts 

cleaving  the  dark? 


Frost  of  the  hedge-rows,  flash  of  the  jasmine,  sparkle  of 

dew  on  the  leaf, 
Seas  lit  wide  by  the  summer  lightning,  shafts  from  thy 

diamond  sheaf, 
Deeply  they  pierced  him,  deeply  he  loved  thee,  now 

has  he  found  thy  soul, 
Artemis,  thine,  in  this  bridal  peal,  where  we  hear  but 

the  death-bell  toll. 

[    "I    ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 


"jV/T ASTER  of  arts,  for  all  those  years 
■*-*-*•    Among  these  lonely  Devon  moors, 
(Lonely  to  you,  but  smiles  and  tears 

Have  crowded  thro'  my  school-house  doors) 
These  garden  walls  would  hardly  suit 

A  man  on  great  ambitions  bent, 
And  yet  my  trees  have  borne  some  fruit 
Of  grateful,  ay  and  proud  content. 

II 

Drinking  the  sunlight  as  Tie  spoke, 

Hale  in  September  as  in  May, 
Across  his  clear  frank  face  there  broke 

A  smile  that  seemed  to  praise  and  pray, 
Half  rapture,  half  adoring  love, 

And  steadfast  as  the  soul  of  truth 
Which,  though  the  thick  gray  gleamed  above, 

Brightened  his  eyes  with  deeper  youth. 

in 

For  think,  he  said,  each  year  a  score 
Of  lives  commended  to  my  trust, 
[  I"  ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

('Tis  never  less  and  sometimes  more) 
It  leaves  the  mind  no  time  to  rust : 

They  come  —  just  when  for  good  or  ill 
My  teaching  kindles  or  controls. 

From  first  to  last  my  striving  will 
Has  helped  to  train  ten  hundred  souls. 

rv 

Forgive  me,  Thou  who  knowest  all 

The  barren  and  the  unhelpful  days ; 
For  still  to  Thee  my  heart  would  call 

Before  I  went  my  morning  ways, 
Or  turned  my  pencilled  old  Carlyle, 

My  guide  thro'  doubts  of  long  ago, 
And  thought,  to-day  some  word  or  smile 

May  teach  them  more  than  aught  I  know. 


For  I  did  doubt;  though  all  my  youth 

To  one  great  ministry  aspired, 
I  saw  the  fiery  sword  of  truth 

Guarding  the  portal  I  desired. 
The  God  whom  Science  could  destroy 

I  slowly  followed  to  his  tomb, 
Then  turned,  alone,  a  friendless  boy 

To  wrestle  with  the  o'erwhelming  gloom. 
[  123  ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

VI 

For  truth,  for  truth  I  strove,  and  yet 

Could  I  forget  the  tender  pride 
Which  those  who  loved  me  had  so  set 

On  this  my  work,  or  cast  aside 
The  years  of  labor  (spent  to  learn 

That  all  the  learning  was  a  dream) 
Thus  on  the  very  verge  to  turn 

And  meet  —  Love's  eyes  with  tears  a-gleam  ? 

VII 

And  sacrifices  had  been  made 

To  give  me     .     .     .     Well,  the  tale  is  old : 
But  even  your  modern  men  are  swayed 

By  fears  on  one  great  subject — "  gold  "; 
And  so,  you'll  understand,  it  meant 

My  "  whole  career,"  and  check  your  smile, 
When,  having  lost  my  God,  I  went 

To  my  great  hero-soul  —  Carlyle. 

VIII 

They  chatter  of  him ?    Let  that  be! 

I'd  only  seen  him  once:  he  stood 
Crowned  by  his  university, 

Wearing  the  gorgeous  robes  and  hood. 
[  124  ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

Beneath  him  surged  a  cheering  crowd 
Of  young  men  straining  tow'rds  his  face. 

A  little  flushed,  a  little  proud, 

He  took  his  throne  in  that  high  place. 

IX 

O,  *what  a  drama  undiscerned 

Swelled  to  its  climax  in  that  hour, 
Where  he  the  poor  Scotch  peasant  burned 

Before  us  with  a  seraph's  power, 
A  nation's  laurels  on  his  brow 

While,  far  away,  Death's  levelled  dart 
Unseen,  unfeared,  undreamed,  e'en  now 

Struck  at  his  heart's  beloved  heart. 


We  clamored  for  our  king  to  speak! 

He  rose.     A  breathless  silence  fell. 
The  flush  of  fame  was  on  his  cheek. 

He  bore  that  regal  splendor  well, 
Then  —  suddenly  —  cast  the  robes  aside ! 

Our  hearts  burned  and  our  eyes  grew  wet; 
He  spoke  as  at  his  own  hearth-side, 

But  O,  we  knew  him  kinglier  yet. 

[  125  ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

XI 

Still  through  and  through  me  thrills  the  fire, 

Unquenched  by  all  the  following  years, 
Which  bade  us  trust  the  truth;  aspire, 

And  blinded  us  with  god-like  tears ! 
That  face  had  suffered  in  the  same 

Dark  night,  through  which  I  still  must  grope; 
But,  lit  with  some  transfiguring  flame, 

He  closed  —  We  bid  you  be  of  hope. 

XII 

And  so  I  went  to  him.     He  heard, 

O,  kindly  as  a  father  might; 
And,  here  and  there,  some  burning  word 

Flashed  sudden  lightnings  thro'  my  night: 
And,  as  he  spoke,  I  felt  and  saw 

The  night  was  only  where  I  lay 
In  one  dark  gulf,  and  truth's  own  law 

Would  lead  me  tow'rds  the  perfect  day. 

XIII 

"  As  from  the  blind  seed  springs  the  flower, 

As  from  the  acorn  soars  the  oak, 
From  darkness  into  heaven  may  tower 

The  soul  of  man,"  he  gently  spoke, 
[  126] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

"  From  Time  into  the  Eternal  Love ! 

Rally  the  might  within  thee,  trust 
In  truth,  and  those  broad  heavens  above, 

They  will  not  doom  thee  to  the  dust." 


XIV 

Troubles  enough  there  were  indeed 

Before  I  caught  the  first  great  gleam. 
It  came  when  I  was  most  in  need 

And,  like  one  waking  from  a  dream, 
To  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth 

I  saw  and,  kneeling,  wept  for  joy  — 
Death  bringing  heavenly  life  to  birth 

In  bliss  which  nothing  can  destroy. 

XV 

It  was  the  night  my  loved  one  died, 

The  year  our  child,  who  lives,  was  born! 
All  night  upon  my  knees  I  cried 

To  God  to  change  His  world  ere  morn, 
"  Roll  back  Thy  stars,  bring  back  my  dead, 

And  take  what  else  Thou  wilt  away; 
But  bring  not  back  to  me,"  I  said, 

"  The  hopeless  horror  of  the  day." 
[  127  ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

XVI 

I  could  not  live,  I  could  not  die, 

My  fate  was  not  in  my  control : 
I  only  knew  that  this  wild  cry 

Would,  with  the  dawn,  destroy  my  soul, 
If,  with  that  dawn,  our  rutted  road, 

The  same  dark  trees,  the  same  dark  farms 
Should  mock  me !  "  God,  too  great  Thy  load !  " 

Then  —  round  me  swept  the  Eternal  arms. 

XVII 

That  once,  if  never  in  my  life 

Again,  I  felt  them,  as  the  dawn 
Came,  with  a  deeper  wonder  rife 

Than  aught  in  that  old  world  withdrawn : 
I  felt  His  love  around  me  furled, 

His  pity,  gentle  as  the  dew, 
And  plucked  the  blind  aside.     The  world 

Was  changed.     His  earth  was  made  anew. 

XVIII 

A  pure  white  mantle  blotted  out 

The  world  I  used  to  know: 
There  was  no  scarlet  in  the  sky 

Or  on  the  hills  below, 
I  128  ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

Gently  as  mercy  out  of  heaven 
Came  down  the  healing  snow. 

XIX 

The  trees  that  were  so  dark  and  bare 

Stood  up  in  radiant  white, 
And  the  road  forgot  its  furrowed  care 

As  day  forgets  the  night, 
And  the  new  heavens  and  the  new  earth 

Lay  robed  in  dazzling  light. 

xx 

And  every  flake  that  fell  from  heaven 

Was  like  an  angel's  kiss, 
Or  a  feather  fluttering  from  the  wings 

Of  some  dear  soul  in  bliss 
Who  gently  leaned  from  that  bright  world 

To  soothe  the  pain  of  this. 

XXI 

Oft  had  I  felt  for  some  brief  flash 

The  heavenly  secret  glow 
In  sunsets,  traced  some  hieroglyph 

In  Nature  —  flowers  that  blow 
And  perish;  tender,  climbing  boughs; 

The  stars  —  and  then  — 'twould  go. 
[   129  ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

XXII 

But  here  I  felt  within  my  soul, 

Clear  as  on  field  and  tree, 
The  falling  of  the  heavenly  snow, 

A  twofold  mystery, 
And  one  was  meant  to  bless  the  world, 

And  one  was  meant  for  me. 

XXIII 

And  at  the  grave-side  of  my  love 

Once  more  thro'  Nature  did  I  see 
Unspeakable,  O  heaven  above, 

What  shining  from  Eternity ! 
They  lowered  the  coffin  to  its  place, 

And  o'er  the  grave  the  great  sun  smiled 
Full  in  —  that  lifted,  laughing  face, 

There,  in  the  nurse's  arms,  the  child. 

XXIV 

Oh,  what  are  words  or  waves  of  the  sea 
Save  for  the  Power  that  through  them  shines, 

The  Soul  that  gives  them  unity 

And  sends  its  glory  through  the  lines? 

Will  art  —  nay,  science  —  deem  it  vain, 
That  world-wide  flash  whereby  I  knew 
[  130  ] 


A  FRIEND  OF  CARLYLE 

His  gentle  touch  in  sun  and  rain, 
His  mercy  gliding  in  the  dew? 

XXV 

Since  then,  the  Power  behind  the  world 

Has  never  left  me,  and  I  find 
In  every  April  fern  unfurled 

Some  vision  of  the  Eternal  mind: 
The  clouds  affirm  their  Charioteer, 

The  hills  demand  His  higher  throne, 
And  year  cries  out  to  fleeting  year 

The  Everlasting  claims  His  own. 

xxvi 

The  God  I  worshipped  when  a  boy 

I  lost;  and  now  that  fifty  years 
Have  passed  with  all  they  could  destroy 

Of  all  my  hopes  and  dreams  and  fears, 
Full  fifty  years,  in  this  dear  place 

Where  all  those  generations  trod, 
Why  (and  heaven  lit  his  lifted  face) 

Now,  there  seems  nothing  else  but  God. 


[  I3i  ] 


THE  TESTIMONY  OF  ART 

A  S  earth,  sad  earth,  thrusts  many  a  gloomy  cape 
•*■  ^     Into  the  sea's  bright  color  and  living  glee, 

So  do  we  strive  to  embay  that  mystery 
Which  earthly  hands  must  ever  let  escape; 
The  Word  we  seek  for  is  the  golden  shape 

That  shall  enshrine  the  Soul  we  cannot  see, 

A  temporal  chalice  of  Eternity 
Purple  with  beating  blood  of  the  hallowed  grape. 

Once  was  it  wine  and  sacramental  bread 

Whereby  we  knew   the  power  that  through   Him 
smiled 
When,  in  one  still  small  utterance,  He  hurled 
The  Eternities  beneath  His  feet  and  said 
With  lips,  O  meek  as  any  little  child, 

Be  of  good  cheer,  I  have  overcome  the  world. 


[   132  ] 


THE  SCHOLARS 

"\  X  7  HERE  is  the  scholar  whose  clear  mind  can  hold 
*  *        The  floral  text  of  one  sweet  April  mead  ?  — 
The  flowing  lines,  which  few  can  spell  indeed, 

Though  most  will  note  the  scarlet  and  the  gold 

Around  the  flourishing  capitals  grandly  scrolled ; 
But  ah,  the  subtle  cadences  that  need 
The  lover's  heart,  the  lover's  heart  to  read, 

And  ah,  the  songs  unsung,  the  tales  un-told. 

Poor  fools-capped  scholars  —  grammar  keeps  us  close, 
The  primers  thrall  us,  and  our  eyes  grow  dim : 
When  will  old  Master  Science  hear  the  call, 
Bid  us  run  free  with  life  in  every  limb 

To  breathe  the  poems  and  hear  the  last  red  rose 
Gossiping  over  God's  gray  garden-wall? 


[  133  ] 


RESURRECTION 

/^\NCE  more  I  hear  the  everlasting  sea 

^^     Breathing  beneath  the  mountain's  fragrant 

breast, 
Come  unto  Me,  come  unto  Me, 
And  I  will  give  you  rest. 

We  have  destroyed  the  Temple  and  in  three  days 
He  hath  rebuilt  it  —  all  things  are  made  new : 

And  hark  what  wild  throats  pour  His  praise 
Beneath  the  boundless  blue. 

We  plucked  down  all  His  altars,  cried  aloud 
And  gashed  ourselves  for  little  gods  of  clay! 

Yon  floating  cloud  was  but  a  cloud, 
The  May  no  more  than  May. 

We  plucked  down  all  His  altars,  left  not  one 

Save  where,  perchance  (and  ah,  the  joy  was  fleet), 

We  laid  our  garlands  in  the  sun 
At  the  white  Sea-born's  feet. 

We  plucked  down  all  His  altars,  not  to  make 

The  small  praise  greater,  but  the  great  praise  less, 

[  134] 


RESURRECTION 

We  sealed  all  fountains  where  the  soul  could  slake 
Its  thirst  and  weariness. 

"  Love  "  was  too  small,  too  human  to  be  found 
In    that   transcendent   source   whence   love    was 
born: 

We  talked  of  "  forces  " :  heaven  was  crowned 
With  philosophic  thorn. 

"  Your  God  is  in  your  image,"  we  cried,  but  O, 
'Twas  only  man's  own  deepest  heart  ye  gave, 

Knowing  that  He  transcended  all  ye  know, 
While  we  —  we  dug  His  grave. 

Denied  Him  even  the  crown  on  our  own  brow, 
E'en  these  poor  symbols  of  His  loftier  reign, 

Levelled  His  Temple  with  the  dust,  and  now 
He  is  risen,  He  is  risen  again, 

Risen,  like  this  resurrection  of  the  year, 
This  grand  ascension  of  the  choral  spring, 

Which  those  harp-crowded  heavens  bend  to  hear 
And  meet  upon  the  wing. 

"  He  is  dead,"  we  cried,  and  even  amid  that  gloom 
The  wintry  veil  was  rent !     The  new-born  day 
I  135  ] 


RESURRECTION 

Showed  us  the  Angel  seated  in  the  tomb 
And  the  stone  rolled  away. 

It  is  the  hour!     We  challenge  heaven  above 
Now,  to  deny  our  slight  ephemeral  breath 

Joy,  anguish,  and  that  everlasting  love 
Which  triumphs  over  death. 


[136] 


A  JAPANESE  LOVE-SONG 


THE  young  moon  is  white, 
But  the  willows  are  blue: 
Your  small  lips  are  red, 

But  the  great  clouds  are  gray: 
The  waves  are  so  many 
That  whisper  to  you; 
But  my  love  is  only 
One  flight  of  spray. 


The  bright  drops  are  many, 

The  dark  wave  is  one: 
The  dark  wave  subsides, 

And  the  bright  sea  remains! 
And  wherever,  O  singing 

Maid,  you  may  run, 
You  are  one  with  the  world 

For  all  your  pains. 

in 

Though  the  great  skies  are  dark, 
And  your  small  feet  are  white, 

[  137  ] 


A  JAPANESE  LOVE-SONG 

Though  your  wide  eyes  are  blue 
And  the  closed  poppies  red, 

Tho'  the  kisses  are  many 
That  color  the  night, 

They  are  linked  like  pearls 
On  one  golden  thread. 

IV 

iWere  the  gray  clouds  not  made 

For  the  red  of  your  mouth; 
The  ages  for  flight 

Of  the  butterfly  years; 
The  sweet  of  the  peach 

For  the  pale  lips  of  drouth, 
The  sunlight  of  smiles 

For  the,shadow  of  tears? 

v 

Love,  Love  is  the  thread 

That  has  pierced  them  with  bliss! 
All  their  hues  are  but  notes 

In  one  world-wide  tune: 
Lips,  willows,  and  waves, 

We  are  one  as  we  kiss, 
And  your  face  and  the  flowers 

Faint  away  in  the  moon. 
[  138  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

(a  tale  of  old  japan.) 


V^OICHI  TENKO,  the  painter, 

■"■       Dwelt  by  the  purple  sea, 
Painting  the  peacock  islands 

Under  his  willow-tree: 
Also  in  temples  he  painted 

Dragons  of  old  Japan, 
With  a  child  to  look  at  the  pictures 

Little  O  Kimi  San. 

Kimi,  the  child  of  his  brother, 

Bright  as  the  moon  in  May, 
White  as  a  lotus  lily, 

Pink  as  a  plum-tree  spray, 
Linking  her  soft  arm  round  him 

Sang  to  his  heart  for  an  hour, 
Kissed  him  with  ripples  of  laughter 

And  lips  of  the  cherry  flower. 

Child  of  the  old  pearl-fisher 

Lost  in  his  junk  at  sea, 
Kimi  was  loved  of  Tenko 

As  his  own  child  might  be, 
[  139  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Yoichi  Tenko  the  painter, 
Wrinkled  and  gray  and  old, 

Teacher  of  many  disciples 

That  paid  for  his  dreams  with  gold. 

II 

Peonies,  peonies  crowned  the  May! 
Clad  in  blue  and  white  array 

Came  Sawara  to  the  school 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree, 

All  to  learn  of  Tenko! 
Riding  on  a  milk-white  mule, 

Young  and  poor  and  proud  was  he, 
Lissom  as  a  cherry  spray 
(Peonies,  peonies,  crowned  the  day!) 
And  he  rode  the  golden  way 

To  the  school  of  Tenko. 

Swift  to  learn,  beneath  his  hand 
Soon  he  watched  his  wonderland 

Growing  cloud  by  magic  cloud, 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree 

In  the  school  of  Tenko: 
Kimi  watched  him,  young  and  proud, 

Painting  by  the  purple  sea, 
Lying  on  the  golden  sand 
[   HO  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Watched  his  golden  wings  expand! 
(None  but  Love  will  understand 
All  she  hid  from  Tenko.) 

He  could  paint  her  tree  and  flower, 
See  and  spray  and  wizard's  tower, 

With  one  stroke,  now  hard,  now  soft, 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree 

In  the  school  of  Tenko: 
He  could  fling  a  bird  aloft, 

Splash  a  dragon  in  the  sea, 
Crown  a  princess  in  her  bower, 
With  one  stroke  of  magic  power; 
And  she  watched  him,  hour  by  hour, 

In  the  school  of  Tenko. 

Yoichi  Tenko,  wondering,  scanned 
All  the  work  of  that  young  hand, 

Gazed  his  kakemonos  o'er, 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree 

In  the  school  of  Tenko : 
"  I  can  teach  you  nothing  more, 

Thought  or  craft  or  mystery ; 
Let  your  golden  wings  expand, 
They  will  shadow  half  the  land, 
All  the  world's  at  your  command, 

Come  no  more  to  Tenko." 

[  Hi   ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Lying  on  the  golden  sand, 
Kimi  watched  his  wings  expand; 
Wept. —  He  could  not  understand 
Why  she  wept,  said  Tenko. 

Ill 

So,  in  her  blue  kimono, 

Pale  as  the  sickle  moon 
Glimmered  thro'  soft  plum-branches 

Blue  in  the  dusk  of  June, 
Stole  she,  willing  and  waning, 

Frightened  and  unafraid, — 
"  Take  me  with  you,  Sawara, 

Over  the  sea,"  she  said. 

Small  and  sadly  beseeching, 

Under  the  willow-tree, 
Glimmered  her  face  like  a  foam*flake 

Drifting  over  the  sea: 
Pale  as  a  drifting  blossom, 

Lifted  her  face  to  his  eyes: 
Slowly  he  gathered  and  held  her 

Under  the  drifting  skies. 

Poor  little  face  cast  backward, 
Better  to  see  his  own, 
[  142  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Earth  and  heaven  went  past  them 
Drifting:  they  two,  alone 

Stood,   immortal.     He  whispered  — 
"  Nothing  can  part  us  two !  " 

Backward  her  sad  little  face  went 
Drifting,  and  dreamed  it  true. 

"  Others  are  happy,"  she  murmured, 

"Maidens  and  men  I  have  seen; 
You  are  my  king,  Sawara, 

O,  let  me  be  your  queen! 
If  I  am  all  too  lowly," 

Sadly  she  strove  to  smile, 
"  Let  me  follow  your  footsteps, 

Your  slave  for  a  little  while." 

Surely,  he  thought,  I  have  painted 

Nothing  so  fair  as  this 
Moonlit  almond  blossom 

Sweet  to  fold  and  kiss, 
Brow  that  is  filled  with  music, 

Shell  of  a  faery  sea, 
Eyes  like  the  holy  violets 

Brimmed  with  dew  for  me. 

"  Wait  for  Sawara,"  he  whispered, 
"  Does  not  his  whole  heart  yearn 
[  143  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Now  to  his  moon-bright  maiden? 

Wait,  for  he  will  return 
Rich  as  the  wave  on  the  moon's  path 

Rushing  to  claim  his  bride !  " 
So  they  plighted  their  promise, 

And  the  ebbing  sea-wave  sighed. 

IV 

Moon  and  flower  and  butterfly, 
Earth  and  heaven  went  drifting  by, 

Three  long  years  while  Kimi  dreamed 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree 

In  the  school  of  Tenko, 
Steadfast  while  the  whole  world  streamed 

Past  her  tow'rds  Eternity; 
Steadfast  till  with  one  great  cry, 

Ringing  to  the  gods  on  high, 
Golden  wings  should  blind  the  sky 

And  bring  him  back  to  Tenko. 

Three  long  years  and  nought  to  say 
"  Sweet,  I  come  the  golden  way, 

Riding  royally  to  the  school 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree 

Claim  my  bride  of  Tenko; 
[   144  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Silver  bells  on  a  milk-white  mule, 

Rose-red  sails  on  an  emerald  sea!  "... 
Kimi  sometimes  went  to  pray 
In  the  temple  nigh  the  bay, 
Dreamed  all  night  and  gazed  all  day 

Over  the  sea  from  Tenko. 

Far  away  his  growing  fame 

Lit  the  clouds.     No  message  came 

From  the  sky,  whereon  she  gazed 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree 

Far  away  from  Tenko! 
Small  white  hands  in  the  temple  raised 

Pleaded  with  the  Mystery, — 
"  Stick  of  incense  in  the  flame, 
Though  my  love  forget  my  name, 
Help  him,  bless  him,  all  the  same, 

And     .     .     .     bring  him  back  to  Tenko !  " 

Rose-white  temple  nigh  the  bay, 
Hush!  for  Kimi  comes  to  pray, 
Dream  all  night  and  gaze  all  day 
Over  the  sea  from  Tenko. 


I  145  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 


So,  when  the  rich  young  merchant 

Showed  him  his  bags  of  gold, 
Yoichi  Tenko,  the  painter, 

Gave  him  her  hand  to  hold, 
Said,  "  You  shall  wed  him,  O  Kimi :  " 

Softly  he  lied  and  smiled  — 
"  Yea,  for  Smvara  is  wedded/ 

Let  him  not  mock  you,  child" 

Dumbly  she  turned  and  left  them, 

Never  a  word  or  cry 
Broke  from  her  lips'  gray  petals 

Under  the  drifting  sky: 
Down  to  the  spray  and  the  rainbows, 

Where  she  had  watched  him  of  old 
Painting  the  rose-red  islands, 

Painting  the  sand's  wet  gold, 

Down  to  their  dreams  of  the  sunset, 
Frail  as  a  flower's  white  ghost, 

Lonely  and  lost  she  wandered 
Down  to  the  darkening  coast; 

Lost  in  the  drifting  midnight, 
Weeping,  desolate,  blind. 
[  146] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Many  went  out  to  seek  her : 
Never  a  heart  could  find. 

Yoichi  Tenko,  the  painter, 

Plucked  from  his  willow-tree 
Two  big  paper  lanterns 

And  ran  to  the  brink  of  the  sea; 
Over  his  head  he  held  them, 

Crying,  and  only  heard, 
Somewhere,  out  in  the  darkness, 

The  cry  of  a  wandering  bird. 

VI 

Peonies,  peonies  thronged  the  May 
When  in  royal-rich  array 

Came  Sawara  to  the  school 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree  — 

To  the  school  of  Tenko! 
Silver  bells  on  a  milk-white  mule, 

Rose- red  sails  on  an  emerald  sea! 
Over  the  bloom  of  the  cherry  spray, 
Peonies,  peonies  dimmed  the  day; 
And  he  rode  the  royal  way 

Back  to  Yoichi  Tenko. 

[  147] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Yoichi  Tenko,  half  afraid, 
Whispered,  "  Wed  some  other  maid ; 

Kimi  left  me  all  alone 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree, 

Left  me,"  whispered  Tenko, 
"  Kimi  had  a  heart  of  stone !  " — 

"Kimi,  Kimi?    Who  is  she? 
Kimi  ?    Ah  —  the  child  that  played 
Round  the  willow-tree.     She  prayed 
Often;  and,  whate'er  I  said, 

She  believed  it,  Tenko." 

He  had  come  to  paint  anew 
Those  dim  isles  of  rose  and  blue, 

For  a  palace  far  away, 
Under  the  silvery  willow-tree  — 

So  he  said  to  Tenko ; 
And  he  painted,  day  by  day, 

Golden  visions  of  the  sea. 
No,  he  had  not  come  to  woo; 
Yet,  had  Kimi  proven  true, 
Doubtless  he  had  loved  her  too, 

Hardly  less  than  Tenko. 

Since  the  thought  was  in  his  head, 
He  would  make  his  choice  and  wed ; 
And  a  lovely  maid  he  chose 
[  148  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

Under  the  silvery  willow-tree. 

"  Fairer  far,"  said  Tenko. 
"  Kimi  had  a  twisted  nose, 

And  a  foot  too  small,  for  me, 
And  her  face  was  dull  as  lead !  " 
"  Nay,  a  flower,  be  it  white  or  red, 
Is  a  flower,"  Sawara  said! 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Tenko. 

vn 

Great  Sawara,  the  painter, 

Sought,  on  a  day  of  days, 
One  of  the  peacock  islands 

Out  in  the  sunset  haze : 
Rose-red  sails  on  the  water 

Carried  him  quickly  nigh; 
There  would  he  paint  him  a  wonder, 

Worthy  of  Hokusai. 

Lo,  as  he  leapt  o'er  the  creaming 

Roses  of  faery  foam, 
Out  of  the  green-lipped  caverns 

Under  the  isle's  blue  dome, 
White  as  a  drifting  snow-flake, 

White  as  the  moon's  white  flame, 

[  149  ] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

White  as  a  ghost  from  the  darkness, 
Little  O  Kimi  came. 

"  Long  I  have  waited,  Sawara, 

Here  in  our  sunset  isle, 
Sawara,  Sawara,  Sawara, 

Look  on  me  once,  and  smile; 
Face  I  have  watched  so  long  for, 

Hands  I  have  longed  to  hold, 
Sawara,  Sawara,  Sawara, 

Why  is  your  heart  so  cold  ?  " 

Surely,  he  thought,  I  have  painted 

Nothing  so  fair  as  this 
Moonlit  almond  blossom 

Sweet  to  fold  and  kiss.     .    .    • 
"  Kimi,"  he  said,  "  I  am  wedded ! 

Hush,  for  it  could  not  be ! " 
"  Kiss  me  one  kiss,"  she  whispered, 

"  Me  also,  even  me." 

Small  and  terribly  drifting 
Backward,  her  sad  white  face 

Lifted  up  to  Sawara 

Once,  in  that  lonely  place, 
[  150] 


THE  TWO  PAINTERS 

White  as  a  drifting  blossom 

Under  his  wondering  eyes, 
Slowly  he  gathered  and  held  her 

Under  the  drifting  skies. 

"  Others  are  happy,"  she  whispered, 

"  Maidens  and  men  I  have  seen : 
Be  happy,  be  happy,  Sawara! 

The  other  —  shall  be  —  your  queen! 
Kiss  me  one  kiss  for  parting." 

Trembling  she  lifted  her  head, 
Then  like  a  broken  blossom 

It  fell  on  his  arm.     She  was  dead. 

VIII 

Much  impressed,  Sawara  straight 
(Though  the  hour  was  growing  late) 

Made  a  sketch  of  Kimi  lying 
By  the  lonely,  sighing  sea, 

Brought  it  back  to  Tenko. 
Tenko  looked  it  over  crying 

(Under  the  silvery  willow-tree). 
"  You  have  burst  the  golden  gate ! 
You  have  conquered  Time  and  Fate ! 
Hokusai  is  not  so  great ! 

This  is  art,"  said  Tenko ! 

[  151  ] 


THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND 


T  REMEMBER  — 

■*•  a  breath,  a  breath 

Blown  thro'  the  rosy  gates  of  birth, 

A  morning  freshness  not  of  the  earth 
But  cool  and  strange  and  lovely  as  death 

In  Paradise,  in  Paradise, 
When,  all  to  suffer  the  old  sweet  pain 

Closing  his  immortal  eyes 

Wonder-wild  an  angel  lies 
With  wings  of  rainbow-tinctured  grain 

Withering  till  —  ah,  wonder-wild, 
Here  on  the  dawning  earth  again 

He  wakes,  a  little  child. 


I  remember  — 

a  gleam,  a  gleam 
Of  sparkling  waves  and  warm  blue  sky 
Far  away  and  long  ago, 

Or  ever  I  knew  that  youth  could  die ; 
And  out  of  the  dawn,  the  dawn,  the  dawn, 
[  152  ] 


THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND 

Into  the  unknown  life  we  sailed 
As  out  of  sleep  into  a  dream, 
And,  as  with  elfin  cables  drawn 

In  dusk  of  purple  over  the  glowing 
Wrinkled  measureless  emerald  sea, 
The  light  cloud  shadows  larger  far 
Than  the  sweet  shapes  which  drew  them  on, 
Fairily  delicate  shadows  flowing 
Between  us  and  the  morning  star 
Chased  us  all  a  summer's  day, 
And  our  sail  like  a  dew-lit  blossom  shone 
Till,  over  a  rainbow  haze  of  spray 
That  arched  a  reef  of  surf  like  snow 

—  Far  away  and  long  ago  — 
We  saw  the  sky-line  rosily  engrailed 

With  tufted  peaks  above  a  smooth  lagoon 
Which  growing,  growing,  growing  as  we  sailed 
Curved  all  around  them  like  a  crescent  moon ; 
And  then  we  saw  the  purple-shadowed  creeks, 
The  feathery  palms,  the  gleaming  golden  streaks 
Of  sand,  and  nearer  yet,  like  jewels  of  fire 
Streaming  between  the  boughs,  or  floating  higher 
Like  tiny  sunset-clouds  in  noon-day  skies, 
The  birds  of  Paradise. 


[  153  ] 


THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND 

in 

The  island  floated  in  the  air, 

Its  image  floated  in  the  sea: 
Which  was  the  shadow?     Both  were  fair: 

Like  sister  souls  they  seemed  to  be; 
And  one  was  dreaming  and  asleep, 

And  one  bent  down  from  Paradise 
To  kiss  with  radiance  in  the  deep 

The  darkling  lips  and  eyes. 

And,  mingling  softly  in  their  dreams, 

That  holy  kiss  of  sea  and  sky 
Transfused  the  shadows  and  the  gleams 

Of  Time  and  of  Eternity: 
The  dusky  face  looked  up  and  gave 

To  heaven  its  golden  shadowed  calm ; 
The  face  of  light  fulfilled  the  wave 

With  blissful  wings  and  fans  of  palm. 

Above,  the  tufted  rosy  peaks 

That  melted  in  the  warm  blue  skies, 

Below,  the  purple-shadowed  creeks 
That  glassed  the  birds  of  Paradise  — 

A  bridal  knot,  it  hung  in  heaven ; 

And,  all  around,  the  still  lagoon 

[  154] 


THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND 

From  bloom  of  dawn  to  blush  of  even 
Curved  like  a  crescent  moon. 

And  there  we  wandered  evermore 

Thro'  boyhood's  everlasting  years, 
Listening  the  murmur  of  the  shore 

As  one  that  lifts  a  shell  and  hears 
The  murmur  of  forgotten  seas 

Around  some  lost  Broceliande, 
The  sigh  of  sweet  Eternities 

That  turn  the  world  to  fairy-land, 

That  turned  our  isle  to  a  single  pearl 

Glowing  in  measureless  waves  of  wine ! 
Above,  below,  the  clouds  would  curl, 

Above,  below,  the  stars  would  shine 
In  sky  and  sea.     We  hung  in  heaven! 

Time  and  space  were  but  elfin-sweet 
Rock-bound  pools  for  the  dawn  and  even 

To  wade  with  their  rosy  feet. 

Our  pirate  cavern  faced  the  West : 

We  closed  its  door  with  screens  of  palm, 

While  some  went  out  to  seek  the  nest 
Wherein  the  Phoenix,  breathing  balm, 

Burns  and  dies  to  live  for  ever 

(How  should  we  dream  we  lived  to  die?) 
[  155  ] 


THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND 

And  some  would  fish  in  the  purple  river 
That  thro'  the  hills  brought  down  the  sky. 

And  some  would  dive  in  the  lagoon 

Like  sunbeams,  and  all  round  our  isle 
Swim  thro'  the  lovely  crescent  moon, 

Glimpsing,  for  breathless  mile  on  mile, 
The  wild  sea-woods  that  bloomed  below, 

The  rainbow  fish,  the  coral  cave 
Where  vanishing  swift  as  melting  snow 

A  mermaid's  arm  would  wave. 

Then,  dashing  shoreward  thro'  the  spray 

On  sun-lit  sands  they  cast  them  down, 
Or  in  the  white  sea-daisies  lay 

With  sun-stained  bodies  rosy-brown, 
Content  to  watch  the  foam-bows  flee 

Across  the  shelving  reefs  and  bars, 
With  wild  eyes  gazing  out  to  sea 

Like  happy  haunted  stars. 

IV 

And  O,  the  wild  sea-maiden 

Drifting  through  the  starlit  air, 
With  white  arms  blossom-laden 

And  the  sea-scents  in  her  hair: 
[  156] 


THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND 

Sometimes  we  heard  her  singing 

The  midnight  forest  through, 
Or  saw  a  soft  hand  flinging 

Blossoms  drenched  with  starry  dew 
Into  the  dreaming  purple  cave ; 

And,  sometimes,  far  and  far  away 
Beheld  across  the  glooming  wave 

Beyond  the  dark  lagoon, 
Beyond  the  silvery  foaming  bar, 

The  black  bright  rock  whereon  she  lay 
Like  a  honey-colored  star 

Singing  to  the  breathless  moon 
Singing  in  the  silent  night 
Till  the  stars  for  sheer  delight 
Closed  their  eyes,  and  drowsy  birds 
On  the  midmost  forest  spray 
Took  their  heads  from  out  their  wings, 
Thinking  —  it  is  Ariel  sings 
And  we  must  catch  the  witching  words 

And  sing  them  o'er  by  day. 


And  then,  there  came  a  breath,  a  breath 
Cool  and  strange  and  dark  as  death, 
A  stealing  shadow,  not  of  the  earth 

[  157  ] 


THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND 

But  fresh  and  wonder-wild  as  birth. 
I  know  not  when  the  hour  began 
That  changed  the  child's  heart  in  the  man, 
Or  when  the  colors  began  to  wane, 
But  all  our  roseate  island  lay 
Stricken,  as  when  an  angel  dies 
With  wings  of  rainbow-tinctured  grain 
Withering,  and  his  radiant  eyes 
Closing.     Pitiless  walls  of  gray 
Gathered  around  us,  a  growing  tomb 
From  which  it  seemed  not  death  or  doom 
Could  roll  the  stone  away. 

VI 

Yet  —  I  remember  — 

a  gleam,  a  gleam, 
(Or  ever  I  dreamed  that  youth  could  die!) 
Of  sparkling  waves  and  warm  blue  sky 

As  out  of  sleep  into  a  dream, 

Wonder-wild  for  the  old  sweet  pain, 

We  sailed  into  that  unknown  sea 

Through  the  gates  of  Eternity. 

Peacefully  close  your  mortal  eyes, 
For  ye  shall  wake  to  it  again 
In  Paradise,  in  Paradise. 
[  158  ] 


UNITY 


T  T E ART  of  my  heart,  the  world  is  young; 
•■■  ■*■     Love  lies  hidden  in  every  rose! 
Every  song  that  the  skylark  sung 

Once,  we  thought,  must  come  to  a  close: 
Now  we  know  the  spirit  of  song, 

Song  that  is  merged  in  the  chant  of  the  whole, 
Hand  in  hand  as  we  wander  along, 

What  should  we  doubt  of  the  years  that  roll? 

II 

Heart  of  my  heart,  we  can  not  die! 

Love  triumphant  in  flower  and  tree, 
Every  life  that  laughs  at  the  sky 

Tells  us  nothing  can  cease  to  be : 
One,  we  are  one  with  a  song  to-day, 

One  with  the  clover  that  scents  the  wold, 
One  with  the  Unknown,  far  away, 

One  with  the  stars,  when  earth  grows  old, 
[   159] 


UNITY 


in 


Heart  of  my  heart,  we  are  one  with  the  wind, 

One  with  the  clouds  that  are  whirled  o'er  the  lea, 
One  in  many,  O  broken  and  blind, 

One  as  the  waves  are  at  one  with  the  sea! 
Ay!  when  life  seems  scattered  apart, 

Darkens,  ends  as  a  tale  that  is  told, 
One,  we  are  one,  O  heart  of  my  heart, 

One,  still  one,  while  the  world  grows  old. 


[  160] 


THE  HILL-FLOWER 

TF  is  my  faith  that  every  flower 
Enjoys  the  air  it  breathes  — 
So  was  it  sung  one  golden  hour 

Among  the  woodbine  wreaths; 
And  yet,  though  wet  with  living  dew, 
The  song  seemed  far  more  sweet  than  true. 

Blind  creatures  of  the  sun  and  air 

I  dreamed  it  but  a  dream 
That,  like  Narcissus,  would  confer 

With  self  in  every  stream, 
And  to  the  leaves  and  boughs  impart 
The  tremors  of  a  human  heart. 

To-day  a  golden  pinion  stirred 

The  world's  Bethesda  pool, 
And  I  believed  the  song  I  heard 

Nor  put  my  heart  to  school; 
And  through  the  rainbows  of  the  dream 
I  saw  the  gates  of  Eden  gleam. 

The  rain  had  ceased.     The  great  hills  rolled 
In  silence  to  the  deep: 
[  161  ] 


THE  HILL-FLOWER 

The  gorse  in  waves  of  green  and  gold 

Perfumed  their  lonely  sleep; 
And,  at  my  feet,  one  elfin  flower 
Drooped,  blind  with  glories  of  the  shower. 

I  stooped  —  a  giant  from  the  sky  — 

Above  its  piteous  shield, 
And,  suddenly,  the  dream  went  by, 

And  there  —  was  heaven  revealed ! 
I  stooped  to  pluck  it ;  but  my  hand 
Paused,  mid-way,  o'er  its  fairyland. 

Not  of  mine  own  was  that  strange  voice, 
"Pluck  —  tear  a  star  from  heaven!" 

Mine  only  was  the  awful  choice 
To  scoff  and  be  forgiven 

Or  hear  the  very  grass  I  trod 

Whispering  the  gentle  thoughts  of  God. 

I  know  not  if  the  hill-flower's  place 

Beneath  that  mighty  sky, 
Its  lonely  and  aspiring  grace 

Its  beauty  born  to  die 
Touched  me,  I  know  it  seemed  to  be 
Cherished  by  all  Eternity. 

[  162  ] 


THE  HILL-FLOWER 

Man,  doomed  to  crush  at  every  stride 

A  hundred  lives  like  this, 
Which  by  their  weakness  were  allied, 

If  by  naught  else,  to  his, 
Can  only  for  a  flash  discern 
What  passion  through  the  whole  doth  yearn. 

Not  into  words  can  I  distill 

The  pity  or  the  pain 
Which  hallowing  all  that  lonely  hill 

Cried  out  "  refrain,  refrain," 
Then  breathed  from  earth  and  sky  and  sea, 
Herein  you  did  it  unto  Me. 

Somewhile  that  hill  was  heaven's  own  breast, 

The  flower  its  joy  and  grief, 
Hugged  close  and  fostered  and  caressed 

In  every  brief  bright  leaf: 
And,  ere  I  went  thro'  sun  and  dew, 
I  leant  and  gently  touched  it,  too. 


[  163  ] 


ACTION 

Who  stood  beside  the  naked  Swift-footed 

And  bound  his  forehead  with  Proserpine's  hair." 

Browning  (Pauline). 


T    IGHT  of  beauty,  O,  " perfect  in  whiteness" 
**"- '     Softly    suffused    thro'    the    world's    dark 

shrouds, 
Kindling  them  all  as  they  pass  by  thy  brightness, — 

Hills,  men,  cities, —  a  pageant  of  clouds, 
Thou  to  whom  Life  and  Time  surrender 

All  earth's  forms  as  to  heaven's  deep  care, 
Who  shall  pierce  to  thy  naked  splendor, 

Bind  his  brows  with  thy  hair? 

II 

Swift  thro'  the  sprays  when  Spring  grew  bolder 
Young  Actaeon  swept  to  the  chase ! 

Golden  the  fawn-skin,  back  from  the  shoulder 
Flowing,  set  free  the  limbs'  lithe  grace, 

Muscles  of  satin  that  rippled  like  sunny- 
Streams, —  a  hunter,  a  young  athlete, 
[  164  ] 


ACTION 

Scattering  dews  and  crushing  out  honey 
Under  his  sandalled  feet. 

in 

Sunset  softened  the  crags  of  the  mountain, 

Silence  melted  the  hunter's  heart, 
Only  the  sob  of  a  falling  fountain 

Pulsed  in  a  deep  ravine  apart: 
All  the  forest  seemed  waiting  breathless, 

Eager  to  whisper  the  dying  day 
Some  rich  word  that  should  utter  the  deathless 

Secret  of  youth  and  May. 

IV 

Softlier  now  and  on  tiptoe  lightly 

Down  the  ravine  that  his  keen  eye  scanned, 
Fair  as  the  sun-god,  brandishing  brightly 

One  sharp  spear  of  the  moon  in  his  hand, 
Stole  he!     Ah,  did  the  oak-wood  ponder 

Youth's  glad  dream  in  its  heart  of  gloom? 
Dryad  or  fawn  was  it  started  yonder? 

Ah,  what  whisper  of  doom? 

v 

Gold,  thro'  the  fringe  of  the  ferns  that  listened, 
Shone  the  soul  of  the  wood's  deep  dream, 
[  165  ] 


ACTJEON 

One  bright  glade  and  a  pool  that  glistened 
Full  in  the  face  of  the  sun's  last  gleam, — 

Gold  in  the  heart  of  a  violet  dingle ! 
Young  Actason,  beware!  beware! 

Who  shall  track,  while  the  pulses  tingle, 
Spring  to  her  woodland  lair? 

VI 

See,  at  his  feet,  what  mystical  quiver, 

Maiden's  girdle  and  robe  of  snow, 
Tossed  aside  by  the  green  glen-river 

Ere  she  bathed  in  the  pool  below? 
All  the  fragrance  of  April  meets  him 

Full  in  the  face  with  its  young  sweet  breath ; 
Yet,  as  he  steals  to  the  glade,  there  greets  him  - 

Hush,  what  whisper  of  death? 

VII 

Lo,  in  the  violets,  lazily  dreaming, 

Young  Diana,  the  huntress,  lies: 
One  white  side  thro'  the  violets  gleaming 

Heaves  and  sinks  with  her  golden  sighs, 
One  white  breast  like  a  diamond  crownet 

Couched  in  a  velvet  casket  glows, 
One  white  arm,  tho'  the  violets  drown  it, 

Thrills  their  purple  with  rose. 
[  166] 


ACTION 


vra 


Buried  in  fragrance,  the  half-moon  flashes, 

Beautiful,  clouded,  from  head  to  heel: 
One  white  foot  in  the  warm  wave  plashes, 

Violets  tremble  and  half  reveal, 
Half  conceal,  as  they  kiss,  the  slender 

Slope  and  curve  of  her  sleeping  limbs: 
Violets  bury  one  half  the  splendor; 

Still,  as  thro'  heaven,  she  swims. 

IX 

Cold  as  the  white  rose  waking  at  daybreak 

Lifts  the  light  of  her  lovely  face, 
Poised  on  an  arm  she  watches  the  spray  break 

Over  the  slim  white  ankle's  grace, 
Watches  the  wave  that  sleeplessly  tosses 

Kissing  the  pure  foot's  pink  sea-shells, 
Watches  the  long-leaved  heaven-dark  mosses 

Drowning  their  star-bright  bells. 


Swift  as  the  Spring  where  the  South  has  brightened 
Earth  with  bloom  in  one  passionate  night, 

Swift  as  the  violet  heavens  had  lightened,  - 
Swift  to  perfection,  blinding,  white, 

[  167  ] 


ACTyEON 

Dian  arose:  and  Actaeon  saw  her, 

Only  he  since  the  world  began! 
Only  in  dreams  could  Endymion  draw  her 

Down  to  the  heart  of  man. 

XI 

Fair  as  the  dawn  upon  Himalaya 

Anger  flashed  from  her  cheek's  pure  rose, 
Alpine  peaks  at  the  passage  of  Maia 

Flushed  not  fair  as  her  breasts'  white  snows. 
Ah,  fair  form  of  the  heaven's  completeness, 

Who  shall  sing  thee  or  who  shall  say 
Whence  that  "  high  perfection  of  sweetness," 

Perfect  to  save  or  slay? 

XII 

Perfect  in  beauty,  beauty  the  portal 

Here  on  earth  to  the  world's  deep  shrine, 
Beauty  hidden  in  all  things  mortal, 

Who  shall  mingle  his  eyes  with  thine? 
Thou,  to  whom  Life  and  Death  surrender 

All  earth's  forms  as  to  heaven's  deep  care, 
Who  shall  pierce  to  thy  naked  splendor, 

Bind  his  brows  with  thy  hair? 

[  168] 


ACTION 

xm 

Beauty,  perfect  in  blinding  whiteness, 

Softly  suffused  thro'  the  world's  dark  shrouds, 
Kindling  them  all  as  they  pass  by  her  brightness, — 

Hills,  men,  cities, —  a  pageant  of  clouds, 
She,  the  unchanging,  shepherds  their  changes, 

Bids  them  mingle  and  form  and  flow, 
Flowers  and  flocks  and  the  great  hill-ranges 

Follow  her  cry  and  go. 

XIV 

Swift  as  the  sweet  June  lightning  flashes, 

Down  she  stoops  to  the  purpling  pool, 
Sudden  and  swift  her  white  hand  dashes 

Rainbow  mists  in  his  eyes!     "Ah,  fool! 
Hunter,"  she  cries  to  the  young  Actaeon, 

"  Change  to  the  hunted,  rise  and  fly, 
Swift  ere  the  wild  pack  utter  its  paean, 

Swift  for  thy  hounds  draw  nigh !  " 

XV 

Lo,  as  he  trembles,  the  greenwood  branches 
Dusk  his  brows  with  their  antlered  pride ! 

Lo,  as  a  stag  thrown  back  on  its  haunches 
Quivers,  with  velvet  nostrils  wide, 
[   169  ] 


ACTION 

Lo,  he  changes!     The  soft  fur  darkens 
Down  to  the  fetlock's  lifted  fear !  — 

Hounds  are  baying !  —  he  snuffs  and  hearkens, 
"  Fly,  for  the  stag  is  here !  " 

XVI 

Swift  he  leapt  thro'  the  ferns,  Actaeon, 

Young  Actaeon,  the  lordly  stag: 
Full  and  mellow  the  deep-mouthed  paean 

Swelled  behind  him  from  crag  to  crag: 
Well  he  remembered  that  sweet  throat  leading, 

Wild  with  terror  he  raced  and  strained, 
Swept  thro'  the  thorns  with  soft  flanks  bleeding; 

Ever  they  gained  and  gained! 

XVII 

Death,  like  a  darkling  huntsman  holloed  — 

Swift,  Actaeon !  —  desire  and  shame 
Leading  the  pack  of  the  passions  followed, 

Red  jaws  frothing  with  white-hot  flame, 
Volleying  out  of  the  glen,  they  leapt  up 

Snapping,  fell  short  of  the  foam-flecked  thighs, 
Inch  by  terrible  inch  they  crept  up, 

Shadows  with  blood-shot  eyes. 

[  170  ] 


ACTION 


XVIII 


Still  with  his  great  heart  bursting  asunder, 

Still  thro'  the  night  he  struggled  and  bled; 
Suddenly  round  him  the  pack's  low  thunder 

Surged,  the  hounds  that  his  own  hand  fed 
Fastened  in  his  throat,  with  red  jaws  drinking 

Deep !  —  for  a  moment  his  antlered  pride 
Soared  o'er  their  passionate  seas,  then,  sinking, 

Fell  for  the  fangs  to  divide. 

XIX 

Light  of  beauty,  O,  perfect  in  whiteness, 

Softly  suffused  thro1  the  years'  dark  veils, 
Kindling  them  all  as  they  pass  by  her  brightness, 

Filling  our  hearts  with  her  old-world  tales, 
She,  the  unchanging,  shepherds  their  changes, 

Bids  them  mingle  and  form  and  flow, 
Flowers  and  flocks  and  the  great  hill-ranges 

Follow  her  cry  and  go. 

XX 

Still,  in  the  violets,  lazily  dreaming 

Young  Diana,  the  huntress,  lies: 
One  white  side  thro'  the  violets  gleaming 

Heaves  and  sinks  with  her  golden  sighs; 
[  171  ] 


ACTION 

One  white  breast  like  a  diamond  crownet 
Couched  in  a  velvet  casket  glows, 

One  white  arm,  tho'  the  violets  drown  it, 
Thrills  their  purple  with  rose. 


[  172  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

(A   EUROPEAN   NIGHTMARE.) 

TO  celebrate  the  ascent  of  man,  one  gorgeous  night 
Lucifer  gave  a  feast. 

Its  world-bewildering  light 
Danced  in  Belshazzar's  tomb,  and  the  old  kings  dead 

and  gone 
Felt  their  dust  creep  to  jewels  in  crumbling  Babylon. 

Two  nations  were  His  guests  —  the  top  and  flower  of 
Time, 

The  fore-front  of  an  age  which  now  had  learned  to 
climb  3 

The  slopes  where  Newton  knelt,  the  heights  that  Shake- 
speare trod, 

The  mountains  whence  Beethoven  rolled  the  voice  of 
God. 

Lucifer's  f easting-lamps  were  like  the  morning  stars, 

But  at  the  board-head  shone  the  blood-red  lamp  of 
Mars. 

League  upon  glittering  league,  white  front  and  flabby 
face 

[  173  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

Bent  o'er   the   groaning  board.     Twelve  brave  men 

droned  the  grace ; 
But  with  instinctive  tact,  in  courtesy  to  their  Host, 
Omitted  God  the  Son  and  God  the  Holy  Ghost, 
And  to  the  God  of  Battles  raised  their  humble  prayers. 

Then,  then,  like  thunder,  all  the  guests  drew  up  their 
chairs. 

By  each  a  drinking-cup,  yellow,  almost,  as  gold, 
{The  blue  eye-sockets  gave  the  thumbs  a  good  firm 

hold) 
Adorned  the  flowery  board.     Could  even  brave  men 

shrink? 

Why  if  the  cups  were  skulls,  they  had  red  wine  to 

drink? 
And  had  not  each  a  napkin,  white  and  peaked  and 

proud, 
Waiting  to  wipe  his  mouth?    A  napkin?     Nay,   a 

shroud ! 
This  was  a  giants'  feast,  on  hell's  imperial  scale. 
The  blades  glistened. 

The  shrouds  —  O,  in  one  snowy  gale, 
The  pink  hands  fluttered  them  out,  and  spread  them  on 

their  knees. 

[   174] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

Who  knew  what  gouts  might  drop,  what  filthy  flakes  of 

grease, 
Now   that  o'er  every  shoulder,   through   the  coiling 

steam, 
Inhuman  faces  peered,  with  wolfish  eyes  a-gleam, 
And  gray-faced  vampire  Lusts  that  whinneyed  in  each 

ear 
Hints  of  the  hideous  courses? 

None  may  name  them  here? 
None?    And  we  may  not  see!     The  distant  cauldrons 

cloak 
The  lava-colored  plains  with  clouds  of  umber  smoke. 
Nay,  by  that  shrapnel-light,  by  those  wild  shooting 

stars 
That  rip  the  clouds  away  with  fiercer  fire  than  Mars, 
They  are  painted  sharp  as  death.     If  these  can  eat  and 

drink 
Chatter  and  laugh  and  rattle  their  knives,  why  should 

we  shrink 
From  empty  names?    We  know  those  ghastly  gleams 

are  true: 
Why  should  Christ  cry  again  —  They  know  not  what 

they  do? 

They,  heirs  of  all  the  ages,  sons  of  Shakespeare's  land, 

They,  brothers  of  Beethoven,  smiling,  cultured,  bland, 

Whisper  with  sidling  heads  to  ghouls  with  bloody  lips. 

[  175  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

Each  takes  upon  his  plate  a  small  round  thing  that  drips 
And  quivers, —  a  child's  heart. 

Miles  on  miles 
The  glittering  table  bends  o'er  that  first  course,  and 

smiles ; 
For,  through  the  wreaths  of  smoke,  the  gray  Lusts  bear 

aloft 
The  second  course,  on  leaden  chargers,  large  and  soft, 
Bodies  of  women,  steaming  in  an  opal  mist, 
Red-branded  here  and  there  where  vampire-teeth  have 

kissed, 
'But  white   as  pig's   flesh,   newly   killed,   and   cleanly 

dressed, 
A  lemon  in  each  mouth  and  roses  round  each  breast, 
Emblems  to  show  how  deeply,  sweetly  satisfied, 
The  breasts,  the  lips,  can  sleep,  whose  children  fought 

and  died 
For  —  what?     For  country?     God,  once  more  Thy 

shrapnel-light ! 

Let  those  dark  slaughter-houses  burst  upon  our  sight, 
These  kitchens  are  too  clean,  too  near  the  tiring  room ! 
Let  Thy  white  shrapnel  rend   those  filthier  veils  of 

gloom, 
Rip  the  last  fogs  away  and  strip  the  foul  thing  bare ! 
[  176  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

One    lightning-picture  —  see  —  yon    bayonet-bristling 

square 
Mown  down,  mown  down,  mown  down,  wild  swathes 

of  crimson  wheat, 
The  white-eyed  charge,  the  blast,  the  terrible  retreat, 
The  blood-greased  wheels  of  cannon  thundering  into 

line 
O'er  that  red  writhe  of  pain,  rent  groin  and  shattered 

spine, 
The  moaning,  faceless  face  that  kissed  its  child  last 

night, 
The  raw  pulp  of  the  heart  that  beat  for  love's  delight, 
The  heap  of  twisting  bodies,  clotted  and  congealed 
In  one  red  huddle  of  anguish  on  the  loathsome  field, 
The  seas  of  obscene  slaughter  spewing  their  blood-red 

yeast, 
Multitudes  pouring  out  their  entrails  for  the  feast, 
Knowing  not  why,  but  dying,  they  think,   for  some 

high  cause, 
Dying  for  "  hearth  and  home,"  their  flags,  their  creeds, 

their  laws. 
Ask  of  the  Bulls  and  Bears,  ask  if  they  understand 
How  both  great  grappling  armies  bleed  for  their  own 

land; 
For  in  that  faith  they  die!     These  hoodwinked  thou- 
sands die 

[  177  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

Simply  as  heroes,  gulled  by  hell's  profoundest  lie. 
Who  keeps  the  slaughter-house?     Not  these,  not  these 

who  gain 
Nought  but  the  sergeant's  shilling  and  the  homeless 

pain! 
Who  pulls  the  ropes?    Not  these,  who  buy  their  crust 

of  bread 
With  the  salt  sweat  of  labor!    These  but  bury  their 

dead 
Then  sweat  again  for  food ! 

Christ,  is  the  hour  not  come, 
To  send  forth  one  great  voice  and  strike  this  dark  hell 

dumb, 
A  voice  to  out-crash  the  cannon ;  one  united  cry 
To  sweep  these  wild-beast  standards  down  that  stain 

the  sky, 
To  hurl  these  Lions  and  Bears  and  Eagles  to  their 

doom, 
One  voice,  one  heart,  one  soul,  one  fire  that  shall 

consume. 
The  last  red  reeking  shreds  that  flicker  against  the  blast 
And  purge  the  Augean  stalls  we  call  "  our  glorious 

past"? 

One  voice  from  dawn  and  sunset,  one  almighty  voice, 

Full-throated  as  the  sea  —  ye  sons  o'  the  earth,  rejoice ! 

Beneath  the  all-loving  sky,  confederate  kings  ye  stand, 

[   178  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

Fling    open    wide    the     gates    o'    the    world-wide 
Fatherland. 

Poor  fools,  we  dare  not  dream  it!     We  that  pule  and 

whine 
Of  art  and  science,  we,  whose  great  souls  leave  no 

shrine 
Unshattered,  we  that  climb  the  Sinai  Shakespeare  trod, 
The  Olivets  where  Beethoven  walked  and  talked  with 

God, 
We    that    have   weighed    the    stars    and    reined    the 

lightning,  we 
That  stare  thro'  heaven  and  plant  our  footsteps  in  the 

sea, 
We  whose  great  souls  have  risen  so  far  above  the 

creeds 
That  we  can  jest  at  Christ  and  leave  Him  where  He 

bleeds, 
A  legend  of  the  dark,  a  tale  so  false  or  true 
That  howsoe'er  we  jest  at  Him,  the  jest  sounds  new. 
(Our  weariest  dinner-tables  never  tire  of  that! 
Let  the  clown  sport  with  Christ,  never  the  jest  falls 

flat!) 
Poor  fools,  we  dare  not  dream  a  dream  so  strange,  so 

great, 

[  179  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

As  on  this  ball  of  dust  to  found  one  "  world-wide 

state," 
To  float  one  common  flag  above  our  little  lands, 
And  ere  our  little  sun  grows  cold  to  clasp  our  hands 
In  friendship  for  a  moment! 


Hark,  the  violins 
Are  swooning  through  the  mist.     The  great  blue  band 

begins, 
Playing,  in  dainty  scorn,  a  hymn  we  used  to  know, 
How  long  was  it,  ten  thousand  thousand  years  ago? 

There  is  a  green  hill  far  away 

Beside  a  City  wall!  — 
And  O,  the  music  swung  a-stray 

With  a  solemn,  dying  fall; 
For  it  was  a  pleasant  jest  to  play 

Hymns  in  the  Devil's  Hall. 

And  yet,  and  yet,  if  aught  be  true, 

This  dream  we  left  behind, 
This  childish  Christ,  be-mocked  anew 

To  please  the  men  of  mind, 
Yet  hung  so  far  beyond  the  flight 

Of  our  most  lofty  thought 
[  180] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

That  —  Lucifer  laughed  at  us  that  night, 
Not  with  us,  as  he  ought. 

Beneath  the  blood-red  lamp  of  Mars, 

Cloaked  with  a  scarlet  cloud 
He  gazed  along  the  line  of  stars 

Above  the  guzzling  crowd: 
Sinister,  thunder-scarred,  he  raised 

His  great  world-wandering  eyes, 
And  on  some  distant  vision  gazed 

Beyond  our  cloudy  skies. 

"  Poor  bats,"  he  sneered,  "  their  jungle-dark 

Civilization's  noon! 
Poor  wolves,  that  hunt  in  packs  and  bark 

Beneath  the  grinning  moon; 
Poor  fools,  that  cast  the  cross  away, 

Before  they  break  the  sword; 
Poor  sots,  who  take  the  night  for  day; 

Have  mercy  on  me,  Lord. 

"Beyond  their  wisdom's  deepest  skies 

I  see  Thee  hanging  yet, 
The  love  still  hungering  in  Thine  eyes, 

Thy  plaited  crown  still  wet  I 
[  181  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

Thine  arms  outstretched  to  fold  them  all 

Beneath  Thy  sheltering  breast; 
But  —  since  they  will  not  hear  Thy  call, 

Lord,  I  forbear  to  jest. 

"Lord,  I  forbear  1     The  day  I  fell 

I  fell  at  least  thro*  pride! 
Rather  than  these  should  share  my  hell 

Take  me,  thou  Crucified! 
O,  let  me  share  Thy  cross  of  grief, 

And  let  me  work  Thy  will, 
As  morning  star,  or  dying  thief, 

Thy  fallen  angel  still. 

"Lord,  I  forbear!    For  Thee,  at  least, 

In  pain  so  like  to  mine, 
The  mighty  meaning  of  their  feast 

Is  plain  as  bread  and  wine: 
O,  smile  once  more,  far  off,  alone! 

Since  these  nor  hear  nor  see, 
From  my  deep  hell,  so  like  Thine  own, 

Lord  Christ,  I  pity  Thee." 

Yet  once  again,  he  thought,  they  shall  be  fully  tried, 
If  they  be  devils  or  fools  too  light  for  hell's  deep  pride. 

[  182  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

The  champ  of  teeth  was  over,  and  the  reeking  room 
Gaped  for  the  speeches  now.     Across  the  sulphurous 

fume 
Lucifer  gave  a  sign.    The  guests  stood  thundering  up ! 
11  Gentlemen,  charge  your  glasses !  " 

Every  yellow  cup 
Frothed  with  the  crimson  blood.     They  brandished 

them  on  high! 
"  Gentlemen,  drink  to  those  who  fight  and  know  not 

why!" 
And  in  the  bubbling  blood  each  nose  was  buried  deep. 
"  Gentlemen,  drink  to  those  who  sowed  that  we  might 

reap! 
Drink  to  the  pomp,  pride,  circumstance,  of  glorious 

war, 
The  grand  self-sacrifice  that  made  us  what  we  are! 
And  drink  to  the  peace-lovers  who  believe  that  peace 
Is  War,  red,  bloody  War;  for  War  can  never  cease 
Unless  we  drain  the  veins  of  peace  to  fatten  War! 
Gentlemen,  drink  to  the  brains  that  made  us  what  we 

are! 
Drink  to  self-sacrifice  that  helps  us  all  to  shake 
The  world  with  tramp  of  armies.     Germany,  awake! 
England,  awake!     Shakespeare's,  Beethoven's  Father- 
land, 
Are  you  not  both  aware,  do  you  not  understand, 
[  183  ] 


LUCIFER'S  FEAST 

Self-sacrifice  is  competition?     It  is  the  law 
Of  Life,  and  so,  though  both  of  you  are  wholly  right, 
Self-sacrifice  requires  that  both  of  you  should  fight." 
And  "  Hoch !  hoch !  hoch !  "  they  cried ;  and  "  Hip, 
hip,  hip,  Hurrah !  " 

This  raised   the  gorge  of  Lucifer.    With  one  deep 

"  Bah," 
Above  those  croaking  toads  he  towered  like  Gabriel ; 

Then  straightway  left  the  table  and  went  home  to  hell. 


I  184  ] 


VETERANS 

(written  for  the  relief  fund  of  the 
crimean  veterans.) 


WHEN  the  last  charge  sounds 
And  the  battle  thunders  o'er  the  plain, 
Thunders  o'er  the  trenches  where  the  red  streams  flow, 
Will  it  not  be  well  with  us, 
Veterans,  veterans, 
If,  beneath  your  torn  old  flag,  we  burst  upon  the  foe? 

II 

When  the  last  post  sounds 

And  the  night  is  on  the  battle-field, 
Night  and  rest  at  last  from  all  the  tumult  of  our  wars, 

Will  it  not  be  well  with  us, 

Veterans,  veterans, 
If,  with  duty  done  like  yours,  we  lie  beneath  the  stars? 

m 

When  the  great  reveille  sounds 
For  the  terrible  last  Sabaoth, 

C  185  ] 


VETERANS 

All  the  legions  of  the  dead  shall  hear  the  trumpet  ring! 
Will  it  not  be  well  with  us, 

Veterans,  veterans, 
If,  beneath  your  torn  old  flag,  we  rise  to  meet  our  king? 


[  186  ] 


THE  QUEST  RENEWED 

fT  is  too  soon,  too  soon,  though  time  be  brief, 

Quite  to  forswear  thy  quest, 
O  Light,  whose  farewell  dyes  the  falling  leaf, 
Fades  thro'  the  fading  West. 

Thou'rt  flown  too  soon !     I  stretch  my  hands  out  still, 

O,  Light  of  Life,  to  Thee, 
Who  leav'st  an  Olivet  in  each  far  blue  hill, 

A  sorrow  on  every  sea. 

It  is  too  soon,  here  while  the  loud  world  roars 

For  wealth  and  power  and  fame, 
Too  soon  quite  to  forget  those  other  shores 

Afar,  from  whence  I  came; 

Too  soon  even  to  forget  the  first  dear  dream 

Dreamed  far  away,  when  tears  could  freely  flow; 

And  life  seemed  infinite,  as  that  sky's  great  gleam 
Deepened,  to  which  I  go, 

Too  soon  even  to  forget  the  fluttering  fire 

And  those  old  books  beside  the  friendly  hearth, 

When  time  seemed  endless  as  my  own  desire, 
And  angels  walked  our  earth; 

[  187  ] 


THE  QUEST  RENEWED 

Too  soon  quite  to  forget  amid  the  throng 

What  once  the  silent  hills,  the  sounding  beach 

Taught  me  —  where  singing  was  the  prize  of  song, 
And  heaven  within  my  reach. 

It  is  too  soon  amid  the  cynic  sneers, 

The  sophist  smiles,  the  greedy  mouths  and  hands, 
Quite  to  forget  the  light  of  those  dead  years 

And  my  lost  mountain-lands; 

Too  soon  to  lose  that  everlasting  hope 

(For  so  it  seemed)  of  youth  in  love's  pure  reign, 
Though  while  I  linger  on  this  darkening  slope 

Nought  seems  quite  worth  the  pain. 

It  is  too  soon  for  me  to  break  that  trust, 

O,  Light  of  Light,  flown  far  past  sun  and  moon, 

Burn  back  thro'  this  dark  panoply  of  dust; 
Or  let  me  follow  —  soon. 


[  188  ] 


THE  LIGHTS  OF  HOME 

T)ILOT,  how  far  from  home?  — 
■*■       Not  far,  not  far  to-night, 

A  flight  of  spray,  a  sea-bird's  flight, 
A  flight  of  tossing  foam, 

And  then  the  lights  of  home !  — 

And  yet  again,  how  far? 

Seems  you  the  way  so  brief? 

Those  lights  beyond  the  roaring  reef 
Were  lights  of  moon  and  star, 

Far,  far,  none  knows  how  far! 

Pilot,  how  far  from  home?  — 
The  great  stars  pass  away 
Before  Him  as  a  flight  of  spray, 

Moons  as  a  flight  of  foam! 
I  see  the  lights  of  home. 


[  189] 


MOUNT  IDA 

[This  poem  commemorates  an  event  of  some  years  ago, 
when  a  young  Englishman — still  remembered  by  many  of 
his  contemporaries  at  Oxford  —  went  up  into  Mount  Ida 
and  was  never  seen  again.] 


^^TOT  cypress,  but  this  warm  pine-plumage  now 
"*"  Fragrant  with  sap,  I  pluck;  nor  bid  you  weep 

Ye  Muses  that  still  haunt  the  heavenly  brow 

Of  Ida,  though  the  ascent  is  hard  and  steep : 
IWeep  not  for  him  who  left  us  wrapped  in  sleep 
At  dawn  beneath  the  holy  mountain's  breast 
And  all  alone  from  Ilion's  gleaming  shore 
Clomb  the  high  sea-ward  glens,  fain  to  drink  deep 
Of  earth's  old  glory  from  your  silent  crest, 
Take  the  cloud-conquering  throne 
Of  gods,  and  gaze  alone 
Thro'  heaven.     Darkling  we  slept  who  saw  his  face 
no  more. 

n 

Ah  yet,  in  him  hath  Lycidas  a  brother, 
And  Adonai's  will  not  say  him  nay, 
[   I90  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 

And  Thyrsis  to  the  breast  of  one  sweet  Mother 

Welcomes  him,  climbing  by  the  self-same  way: 
Quietly  as  a  cloud  at  break  of  day 

Up  the  long  glens  of  golden  dew  he  stole 
(And  surely  Bion  called  to  him  afar!) 
The  tearful  hyacinths,  and  the  green-wood  spray 
Clinging  to  keep  him  from  the  sapphire  goal, 
Kept  of  his  path  no  trace! 
Upward  the  yearning  face 
Clomb  the  ethereal  height,  calm  as  the  morning  star 

m 

Ah  yet,  incline,  dear  Sisters,  or  my  son^ 

That  with  the  light  wings  of  the  skimming  swallow 
Must  range  the  reedy  slopes,  will  work  him  wrong! 

And  with  some  golden  shaft  do  thou,  Apollo, 
Show  the  pine-shadowed  path  that  none  may  follow; 
For,  as  the  blue  air  shuts  behind  a  bird, 

Round  him  closed  Ida's  cloudy  woods  and  rills ! 
Day-long,  night-long,  by  echoing  height  and  hollow, 
We  called  him,  but  our  tumult  died  un-heard : 
Down  from  the  scornful  sky 
Our  faint  wing-broken  cry 
Fluttered  and  perished  among  the  many-folded  hills. 

[  I9i  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 


IV 


Ay,  though  we  clomb  each  faint-flushed  peak  of  vision, 

Nought  but  our  own  sad  faces  we  divined : 
Thy  radiant  way  still  laughed  us  to  derision, 
And  still  revengeful  Echo  proved  unkind ; 
And  oft  our  faithless  hearts  half  feared  to  find 

Thy  cold  corse  in  some  dark  mist-drenched  ravine 
Where  the  white  foam  flashed  head-long  to  the  sea : 
How  should  we  find  thee,  spirits  deaf  and  blind 

Even  to  the  things  which  we  had  heard  and  seen? 
Eyes  that  could  see  no  more 
The  old  light  on  sea  and  shore, 
What  should  they  hope  or  fear  to  find?    They  found 
not  thee; 


Not  though  we  gazed  from  heaven  o'er  Ilion 
Dreaming  on  earth  below,  mistily  crowned 

With  towering  memories,  and  beyond  her  shone 
The  wine-dark  seas  Achilles  heard  resound! 

Only,  and  after  many  days,  we  found 
Dabbled  with  dew,  at  border  of  a  wood 
Bedded  in  hyacinths,  open  and  a-glow 

Thy  Homer's  Iliad.    .    .    .    Dryad  tears  had  drowned 


[  192  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 

The  rough  Greek  type  and,  as  with  honey  or  blood, 
One  crocus  with  crushed  gold 
Stained  the  great  page  that  told 
Of  gods  that  sighed  their  loves  on  Ida,  long  ago. 

VI 

See  —  for  a  couch  to  their  ambrosial  limbs 

Even  as  their  golden  load  of  passion  presses 
The  fragrant  thyme,  a  billowing  cloud  up-swims 

Of  springing  flowers  beneath  their  deep  caresses, 
Hyacinth,  lotus,  crocus,  wildernesses 

Of  bloom    .    .    .    but  clouds  of  sunlight  and  of  dew 
Dropping  rich  balm,  round  the  dark  pine-woods 
curled 
That  the  warm  wonder  of  their  in-woven  tresses, 
And  all  the  secret  blisses  that  they  knew, 
Where  beauty  kisses  truth 
In  heaven's  deep  heart  of  youth, 
Might  still  be  hidden,  as  thou  art,  from  the  heartless 
world. 

VII 

Even  as  we  found  thy  book,  below  these  rocks 
Perchance  that  strange  great  eagle's  feather  lay, 

When  Ganymede,  from  feeding  of  his  flocks 
On  Ida,  vanished  thro'  the  morning  gray: 
E  193  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 

Stranger  it  seemed,  if  thou  couldst  cast  away 
Those  golden  musics  as  a  thing  of  nought, 

A  dream  for  which  no  longer  thou  hadst  need ! 
Ah,  was  it  here  then  that  the  break  of  day 

Brought  thee  the  substance  for  the  shadow,  taught 
Thy  soul  a  swifter  road 
To  ease  it  of  its  load 
And  watch  this  world  of  shadows  as  a  dream  recede? 

VIII 

We  slept !     Darkling  we  slept !     Our  busy  schemes, 

Our  cold  mechanic  world  a-while  was  still ; 
But  O,  their  eyes  are  blinded  even  in  dreams 

Who  from  the  heavenlier  Powers  with-draw  their 
will: 
Here  did  the  dawn  with  purer  light  fulfill 

Thy  happier  eyes  than  ours,  here  didst  thou  see 
The  quivering  wonder-light  in  flower  and  dew, 
The  quickening  glory  of  the  haunted  hill, 
The  Hamadryad  beckoning  from  the  tree, 
The  Naiad  from  the  stream; 
While  from  her  long  dark  dream 
Earth  woke,  trembling  with  life,  light,  beauty,  through 
and  through. 

[  194  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 

IX 

And  the  everlasting  miracle  of  things 

Flowed  round  thee,  and  this  dark  earth  opposed  no 
bar, 
And  radiant  faces  from  the  flowers  and  springs 

Dawned  on  thee,  whispering,  Knowest  thou  whence 
we  are? 
Faintly  thou  heardst  us  calling  thee  afar 

As  Hylas  heard,  swooning  beneath  the  wave, 

Girdled  with  glowing  arms,  while  wood  and  glen 
Echoed  his  name  beneath  that  rosy  star ; 

And  thy  farewell  came  faint  as  from  the  grave 
For  very  bliss;  but  we 
Could  neither  hear  nor  see; 
And  all  the  hill  with  Hylas!  Hylas!  rang  again. 


But  there  were  deeper  love-tales  for  thine  ears 

Than  mellow-tongued  Theocritus  could  tell: 
Over  him  like  a  sea  two  thousand  years 

Had  swept.     They  solemnized  his  music  well ! 
Farewell !     What  word  could  answer  but  farewell, 
From  thee,  O  happy  spirit,  thou  couldst  steal 
So  quietly  from  this  world  at  break  of  day? 
What  voice  of  ours  could  break  the  silent  spell 
[  195  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 

Beauty  had  cast  upon  thee,  or  reveal 
The  gates  of  sun  and  dew 
Which  oped  and  let  thee  through 
And  led  thee  heavenward  by  that  deep  enchanted  way  ? 

XI 

Yet  here  thou  mad'st  thy  choice:     Love,  Wisdom, 
Power, 
As  once  before  young  Paris,  they  stood  here ! 
Beneath  them  Ida,  like  one  full-blown  flower, 

Shed  her  bloom  earthward  thro'  the  radiant  air 
Leaving  her  rounded  fruit,  their  beauty,  bare 
To  the  everlasting  dawn;  and,  in  thy  palm 
The  golden  apple  of  the  Hesperian  isle 
Which  thou  must  only  yield  to  the  Most  Fair ; 
But  not  to  Juno's  great  luxurious  calm, 
Nor  Dian's  curved  white  moon, 
Gav'st  thou  the  sunset's  boon, 
Nor  to  foam-bosomed  Aphrodite's  rose-lipped  smile. 

XII 

Here  didst  thou  make  the  eternal  choice  a-right, 
Here,  in  this  hallowed  haunt  of  nymph  and  faun, 

They  stood  before  thee  in  that  great  new  light, 
The  three  great  splendors  of  the  immortal  dawn, 
[  196] 


MOUNT  IDA 

With  all  the  cloudy  veils  of  Time  with-drawn 
Or  only  glistening  round  the  firm  white  snows 
Of  their  pure  beauty  like  the  golden  dew 
Brushed  from  the  breast-deep  ferns  below  the  lawn; 
But  not  to  cold  Diana's  morning  rose, 
Nor  to  great  Juno's  frown 
Cast  thou  the  apple  down, 
And,  when  the  Paphian  raised  her  lustrous  eyes  anew, 

XIII 

Thou  from  thy  soul  didst  whisper  —  in  that  heaven 

Which  yearns  beyond  us/    Lead  me  up  the  height! 
How  should  the  golden  fruit  to  one  be  given 
Till  your  three  splendors  in  that  Sun  unite 
Where  each  in  each  ye  move  like  light  in  light? 
How  should  I  judge  the  rapture  till  I  know 

The  painf    And  like  three  waves  of  music  there 
They  closed  thee  round,  blinding  thy  blissful  sight 
With  beauty  and,  like  one  roseate  orb  a-glow, 
They  bore  thee  on  their  breasts 
Up  the  sun-smitten  crests 
And  melted  with  thee  smiling  into  the  Most  Fair. 

XIV 

Upward  and  onward,  ever  as  ye  went 
The  cities  of  the  world  nestled  beneath 

[  197  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 

Closer,  as  if  in  love.     Ida  was  blent 

With  alien  hills  in  one  great  bridal-wreath 
Of  dawn-flushed  clouds;  while,  breathing  with  your 
breath, 
New  heavens  mixed  with  your  mounting  bliss.    Deep 
eyes, 
Beautiful  eyes,  imbrued  with  the  world's  tears 
Dawned  on  you,  beautiful  gleams  of  Love  and  Death 
Flowed  thro'  your  questioning  with  divine  replies 
From  that  ineffable  height 
Dark  with  excess  of  light 
Where  the  Ever-living  dies  and  the  All-loving  hears. 

XV 

For  thou  hadst  seen  what  tears  upon  man's  face 

Bled  from  the  heart  or  burned  from  out  the  brain, 
And  not  denied  or  cursed,  but  couldst  embrace 

Infinite  sweetness  in  the  heart  of  pain, 
And  heardst  those  universal  choirs  again 
Wherein  like  waves  of  one  harmonious  sea 

All  our  slight  dreams  of  heaven  are  singing  still, 
And  still  the  throned  Olympians  swell  the  strain, 
And,  hark,  the  burden  of  all  —  Come  unto  Mel 
Sky  into  deepening  sky 
Melts  with  that  one  great  cry; 
And  the  lost  doves  of  Ida  moan  on  Siloa's  hill. 
[   198  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 

XVI 

I  gather  all  the  ages  in  my  song 

And  send  them  singing  up  the  heights  to  thee! 
Chord  by  aeonian  chord  the  stars  prolong 

Their  passionate  echoes  to  Eternity: 
Earth  wakes,  and  one  orchestral  symphony 

Sweeps  o'er  the  quivering  harp-strings  of  man-kind; 
Grief  modulates  into  heaven,  hate  drowns  in  love, 
No  strife  now  but  of  love  in  that  great  sea 

Of  song!     I  dream!     I  dream!     Mine  eyes  grow 
blind: 

Chords  that  I  not  command 
Escape  the  fainting  hand ; 
Tears  fall.     Thou  canst  not  hear.     Thou'rt  still  too 
far  above. 

XVII 

Farewell !     What  word  should  answer  but  farewell 

From  thee,  O  happy  spirit,  whose  clear  gaze 
Discerned  the  path  —  clear,  but  unsearchable  — 

Where  Olivet  sweetens,  deepens,  Ida's  praise, 
The  path  that  strikes  as  thro'  a  sun-lit  haze 
Through  Time  to  that  clear  reconciling  height 
Where    our    commingling    gleams    of    god-head 
dwell ; 

[  199  ] 


MOUNT  IDA 

Strikes  thro'  the  turmoil  of  our  darkling  days 
To  that  great  harmony  where  like  light  in  light, 
Wisdom  and  Beauty  still 
Haunt  the  thrice-holy  hill, 
And  Love,  immortal  Love    .    .    .    what  answer  but 
farewell  ? 


[   20O  ] 


GLIMPSES 

IGHT,  by  dark  waves  begotten, 
*"^     But  born  in  our  own  eyes, 
Wilt  thou,  too,  sleep  forgotten 

When  this  that  bore  thee  dies. 

When,  like  a  single  cymbal,  still 

The  unknown  power  strikes  down, 

And  no  dark  terrene  nerve  can  thrill 
With  colors  all  its  own, 

When  man  and  beast  and  bird  and  bee 
No  longer  lend  their  powers 

To  make  this  emerald  of  the  sea, 
This  rainbow  of  the  flowers  — 

Were  all  eyes  sealed  forever 

Where  wouldst  thou  make  thy  home? 
In  vain  the  ethereal  waves  would  quiver 

The -unanswered  forces  roam. 
[  201  ] 


GLIMPSES 

Dark  hands  might  grope  and  blunder 
Among  soft  shapes  of  flowers, 

Sweet  scents  might  wake  our  wonder, 

Sweet  sounds  —  these,  too,  are  ours, 

Ours,  for  we  can  but  gather 

Our  own  blind  feelings  here! 

Flowers?     Call  them  whispers  rather, 
Caresses  from  —  out  there. 

In  our  own  ears  the  sighing; 

Without  the  mute  air  wave! 
In  our  own  hearts  the  flying 

Sense  of  the  love  we  crave. 

Whether  the  dawn  be  bright'ning 
Or  darkness  clouds  the  road, 

We  ask  and  ask  by  lightning 
In  our  brief  signal-code. 

And  all  we  feel  respond  is 

The  flash  from  nerve  to  brain, 

And  that  which  lies  beyond  is 
Not  this,  but  night  again. 

O,  dream  which  all  inherit, 

In  stars  and  flowers  unfurled; 
[  202  ] 


GLIMPSES 

O,  pageant  of  the  Spirit 

Which  we  miscall  the  world; 

Thou  creature  of  our  senses, 
Thou  cry  of  smitten  strings, 

Ours  is  the  lute,  but  whence  is 

The  hand  of  it,  what  Soul  that  sings? 

What  waif  of  glory  lingers 

O  world  which  half  we  make, 

When  'neath  the  Eternal  fingers 
We  —  lute-strings  —  break. 


I  203  J 


THE  ELECTRIC  TRAM 


T1LUFF  and  burly  and  splendid 
**■"'     Thro'  roaring  traffic-tides, 
By  secret  lightnings  attended 

The  land-ship  hisses  and  glides. 
And  I  sit  on  its  bridge  and  I  watch  and  I  dream 

While  the  world  goes  gallantly  by, 
With  all  its  crowded  houses  and  its  colored  shops 
a-stream 

Under  the  June-blue  sky, 
Heigh,  ho! 

Under  the  June-blue  sky. 

II 

There's  a  loafer  at  the  kerb  with  a  sulphur-colored  pile 
Of  "  Lights!  Lights!  Lights!  "  to  sell; 

And  a  flower-girl  there  with  some  lilies  and  a  smile 
By  the  gilt  swing-doors  of  a  drinking  hell, 

Where  the  money  is  rattling  loud  and  fast, 
[  204  ] 


THE  ELECTRIC  TRAM 

And  I  catch  one  glimpse  as  the  ship  swings  past 
Of  a  woman  with  a  babe  at  her  breast 

Wrapped  in  a  ragged  shawl; 
She  is  drinking  away  with  the  rest, 
And  the  sun  shines  over  it  all, 

Heigh,  ho! 
The  sun  shines  over  it  all! 

in 

And  a  barrel-organ  is  playing, 

Somewhere,  far  away, 
T Abide  with  me,  and  The  world  is  gone  a-maying, 

And  What  will  the  policeman  sayf 
There's  a  glimpse  of   the  river   down   an   alley  by 
a  church, 
And  the  barges  with  their  tawny-colored  sails, 
And  a  grim  and  grimy  coal-wharf  where  the  London 
pigeons  perch 
And  flutter  and  spread  their  tails, 

Heigh,  ho! 
Flutter  and  spread  their  tails. 

IV 

O,  what  does  it  mean,  all  the  pageant  and  the  pity, 
The  waste  and  the  wonder  and  the  shame? 
[  205  ] 


THE  ELECTRIC  TRAM 

I  am  riding  tow'rds  the  sunset  thro'  the  vision  of  a  City 

Which  we  cloak  with  the  stupor  of  a  name ! 
I  am  riding  thro'  ten  thousand  thousand  tragedies  and 
terrors, 
Ten  million  heavens  that  save  and  hells  that  damn ; 
And  the  lightning  draws  my  car  tow'rds  the  golden 
evening  star; 
And  —  they  call  it  only  "  riding  on  a  tram," 

Heigh,  ho ! 
They  call  it  only  "  riding  on  a  tram." 


[  206  ] 


